


Consume

by uisceB



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark One Emma, Dark Swan, F/F, Romance, Smut, frozen swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-04-13 12:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4521273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uisceB/pseuds/uisceB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post Season 4, Emma is now the Dark One and is on a destructive path. As a last resort, Elsa is summoned back to Storybrooke by Emma's friends and family in one last effort to get through to her, but Elsa struggles with her own feelings for Emma, finding herself drawn to her even in darkness. Dark Frozen Swan romance, with a little bit of background Red Queen.<br/>Rating: E for angst, language, and explicit FrozenSwan smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> …This one's pretty dark. So if you're coming here after having read "The Hot and Cold of It" just be aware that this is very different tone-wise, heavy on the angst and not much fluff, at least in this first part. It's actually basically the anti-"Hot and Cold of It." But hey, there's going to be oodles of smut, so that…totally makes up for it…right? …Right.

Elsa doesn't expect it to be Regina who summons her back to Storybrooke. More to the point, Elsa doesn't expect to be summoned back to Storybrooke at all. Certainly she's  _thought_  about it before, during moments of absent-minded dreaming, what it might be like to return to Storybrooke, to see Emma again. But she never thought it would actually happen. And if it did, she would expect-- or at least she would dare to  _hope_ \-- that it would be Emma who made it happen.

But when Elsa is ripped violently from her throne in Arendelle and delivered sprawling to the hard paved streets of Storybrooke, it isn't Emma who helps her to her feet; it's Regina, and Elsa immediately feels dread seep through her entire body.

It's nighttime here-- at least, that's what she thinks at first. But as her senses calm from the trauma of having been torn from one world to another, she realizes her mistake. The sky is dark, yes, but it doesn't seem to be because of the time of day. It's a heavier, more pressing darkness. Without being told, Elsa can tell that even at high noon, Storybrooke would still be this dark. Without being told, Elsa can tell that something is very very wrong here.

"Nice of you to come," Regina says mildly as she helps Elsa up.

"Did I have a choice?" Elsa asks as she looks around herself, trying to lock down on her powers so they don't flare up and expose how afraid she is.

"Not really…but I  _am_  genuinely glad to see you," Regina tells her seriously. Elsa can tell Regina means to be comforting, but her comment just makes her more uncomfortable; Elsa hardly interacted with Regina at all when she was here nearly a year ago. If Regina is… _genuinely glad_ to see her…Elsa's  _genuinely afraid_ of what that might mean.

"Where's Emma?" she asks, cutting straight to the point, because that's the only reason she can think of that might land her here. She was fond of the people of Storybrooke when she was here, she really was, but she can't pretend any of them  _really_  mattered to her-- not the way Emma did.

The corner of Regina's mouth lifts in what is just shy of a smile. "Clever you," she remarks, and then gestures behind her to a building that has definitely seen better days. "Why don't you come have a drink with me," she suggests before turning and heading for said building.

Elsa hesitates for a moment, but the darkness around her is oppressive, and Regina has pretty much just wordlessly confirmed that whatever is going on here has something to do with Emma…so Elsa takes a steadying breath and then follows after her.

*

The concept of the Dark One is a foreign one to Elsa-- even now, she has yet to meet anyone else in Arendelle who has magic at all, let alone something called  _dark_  magic. What Regina describes-- what Emma once described to her long ago-- is confusing to Elsa…as far as Elsa can tell, magic is magic, there is no dark or light about it. It just  _is_. It's part of someone, or it isn't.

Regina disagrees.

"Emma," the older woman tells her, "is the very manifestation of light magic. At least she  _was._ The darkness that has consumed her is unnatural for her, it influences her, makes her do things she never would otherwise. She's become…dangerous."

The last word is said carefully, like it doesn't completely encompass the gravity of the situation.

"Emma's strong," Elsa argues uncertainly. "I can't believe that she would do what you said, not without a fight, not without…"

"She did fight, for a time," Regina interrupts gently, as gently as Regina can. "For the first several months, she did everything she could to keep the darkness at bay. For a while, we even thought she had it completely under control, the way Rumplestiltskin did, occasionally at least. But darkness-- this particular kind of darkness-- exists solely to consume the light. And Emma, who… _is_ …the light…" Regina sighs, pouring herself another drink from the abandoned bar. "She had no defense against the way it corrupted her. Of all the people the darkness could have taken, she was the most vulnerable."

Elsa feels something cold churn in the pit of her stomach at the word "vulnerable." The Emma she knew tried so hard not to be vulnerable. Elsa thinks she's one of the few people in the world who has ever actually  _seen_  Emma as vulnerable-- twice. Once when Emma was slowly freezing to death when they were both trapped inside the ice wall, and then again when she had gone to almost self-destructive lengths to get rid of her powers for fear she would hurt someone. Emma's vulnerability is precious-- rare, and well-guarded. The idea that something is inside her, taking advantage of that vulnerability and corrupting it...

"What can I do to help?" Elsa asks quickly.

Regina exhales slowly, looking surprisingly relieved at her words. "Several weeks ago," she says, "Emma lost control. The darkness in her can't create evil that isn't there-- but it feeds on unexpressed desires, and destroys inhibition. In a moment of carelessness, Emma's powers took over and in the chaos of it all, she nearly killed Henry."

Elsa's throat contracts. "But she didn't…"

"No, thank god," Regina answers shortly. "But since that incident, she's been…different. It's almost as if she doesn't care anymore. She  _enjoys_  losing control, that's the odd thing. It seems to make her happy. And the more she's lost control, the more of the town she's destroyed. More than half the citizens of Storybrooke have fled across the town line-- even Snow and Charming fled with Henry to keep him safe."

"…But you've stayed," Elsa ventures carefully. It's not as if she didn't notice the complexity of Regina's friendship with Emma when she was here last. In fact, Elsa's often wondered, more than she'd like to admit, about the nature of their friendship, about the way they can fight like cats and dogs but still seem to have this unquantifiable level of devotion to one another. 

"For now," Regina answers vaguely. "It's…difficult for me to be around her. It's difficult trying to convince her to come back to who she was, especially when it's my fault she even got this way in the first place."

"It's not your fault--"

"She took the darkness on in order to ensure  _my_  happiness," Regina interrupts. "Trust me dear, this is very much my fault."

Regina takes a sip from her glass, looking distant. "After the incident with Henry, she became more destructive," she says finally, picking up from where she left off. "There was a fight…I'm sure you've noticed the way Storybrooke isn't exactly…all in one piece anymore."

Elsa nods. The shattered storefronts, the downed telephone lines, the upended pavement…these things may be strange to Elsa, but she recognizes a broken thing when she sees it.

"In the midst of it all, Emma was able to get ahold of the dagger," Regina says.

"What dagger?"

Regina pauses thoughtfully. "It's the only thing that can control her," she says. "Whoever has control over the dagger has control over Emma. As long as we had it in our possession we were able to command her not to use her powers, not to hurt anyone. But now that she has it…there's very little that can stop her." She takes a small sip of her drink. "That's where you come in."

"…You want me to get the dagger from her? But what can  _I--_ I mean, surely there must be someone here who--"

"We've tried," Regina tells her. "All of us. Charming, Snow, Henry, myself…even the stupid pirate made a ridiculous spectacle of himself trying to win her over by proclaiming his undying love for her…and then she hurled a lightning bolt at him. That part was actually a little bit funny, I'll admit it. I don't know that I've ever seen anything quite as pathetic."

Elsa doesn't mean to smile, but part of her-- the part of her she doesn't like to admit to-- likes hearing that Hook failed to reach Emma. Her smile fades quickly though as she comes back to what Regina is asking her to do.

"But…what makes you think, after all that, that  _I_  can get the dagger from her? What makes you think I'll be able to do what even her family's failed to do?" she asks.

"Because you did it before," Regina answers somewhat stiffly. "When you were here before and her powers were out of control,  _you_  got to her in a way that neither Hook, nor I, nor even Henry or her parents could. The two of you share…something. I don't pretend to know what that is, but it's powerful and it's…well, it's the only thing left we haven't tried."

Elsa isn't sure which she feels more-- terror at the prospect of having to be responsible for saving Emma from herself, or…elation at the idea of getting to be near Emma again. No, actually she  _is_  sure; elation wins out, no contest. Even if she fails, just the chance to see Emma again, even for a moment fills her with almost indescribable joy.

"She isn't the same Emma you knew from before," Regina warns, and Elsa suddenly becomes aware that her excitement must have shown. She blushes, looking down.

"She's unpredictable, volatile…violent," Regina continues. "At this point, that dagger is her dearest possession. She will hurt you in an effort to keep hold of it. Do you understand that?"

Elsa looks up at her, and there's something in the older woman's face that makes it clear she's speaking from experience. It's startling, because the Regina Elsa remembers was so callous and flippant, almost untouchable emotionally. Right now though, the brunette looks…drained. Like she's been fighting a losing battle for a long time and is close to giving up.

Pity floods unexpectedly through Elsa and she nods. "I understand," she says softly, reaching for Regina's hand. Regina stiffens reflexively at the motion, but then relaxes after a moment, offering a tight shadow of a smile in response.

"I'll get the dagger away from her, I'll do everything I can," Elsa promises her.

Regina tilts her head and stands, surprisingly enough keeping hold of Elsa's hand. "I'll walk you as far as I can," she offers. "But it's best if I let you find her on your own. It'll be harder for you if she thinks we're trying to work together against her."

The two of them exit the abandoned bar and begin to head north over the uneven pavement. Elsa has to watch her step-- aside from being torn up in several places, the road is littered with debris and oil spills. She jolts a little when Regina takes her arm in order to stop her, pointing at something in the distance.

Some ways away, smoke swirls over the rise of buildings, flashing and storm-like, stretching up into the sky. Regina grimaces.

"There's our Swan," she mutters.

Elsa stares, trying to figure out what she's looking at. "She's doing that?" she asks. "What is it?"

Regina shakes her head. "Difficult to say. Could just be random destruction, could be that she's terrorizing Happy the dwarf-- he's always been her least favorite…Could be something else though." Something about the expression on Regina's face makes Elsa think she believes it's  _something else_. Whatever that something else is.

"So this is where I leave you," Regina says. "Are you alright to go on alone?"

Elsa hesitates. All of a sudden she's terrified. She loved Emma,  _adored_  her…more than she's ever liked to admit, and in ways that she's tried very hard to ignore. Suddenly the thought of being reunited with her, but such a  _different_  her…it's scary. The coward in Elsa almost wishes Regina hadn't summoned her here, just so Elsa could keep her perfect memories of Emma intact. 

"You're allowed to say no," Regina tells her, something guilty flickering in her eyes. "I haven't taken you hostage or anything, but Emma's magic has thinned the walls between worlds so there's hardly even a need for portals anymore-- it was easy for me to summon you here, and I did it without thinking…I can send you back though, if you're afraid."

"No," Elsa answers quickly, the word coming out even before she's realized she thought it. Elsa  _is_  afraid. But now that she knows something is wrong, she can't possibly ignore it, she can't just  _abandon_  Emma, no matter how afraid she is. She musters up a smile. "I'm glad you brought me here."

It's not quite true, but not quite a lie either, and Regina nods. "Call to me if you need me," she instructs. "I'll get you out of there."

Elsa gives her hand a squeeze, out of gratitude, out of reassurance, out of fear…and watches as Regina turns and walks away.

Then it's just her in this darkness. Alone. And Elsa, who never feels cold, shivers and wraps her arms around herself, and then heads for the billowing column of smoke off in the distance.

*

She follows the rise of smoke to a near-destroyed square at the northernmost end of town. It's hardly a town at all anymore here-- just masses of rubble held together by a loose, ghostlike interpretation of what a town  _should_  look like.

No one lives here anymore, Elsa's sure of it. But at the center of it all, arms outstretched toward the swirling column of smoke, is a figure dressed all in black, blonde hair pulled back, loose ends dancing wildly in the wind.

"Emma," Elsa whispers before she can stop herself. It's too quiet for Emma to have heard over the roar of the billowing smoke before her, but as soon as the words are out of Elsa's mouth, Emma's hands drop to her sides, the brewing storm vanishing at her motion, and she wheels around, body rigid in apprehension.

For a split second, Elsa almost doesn't recognize her. Emma was always guarded, but never once has Elsa ever seen her eyes so hard, so cold-- flinty, like they're actually made of steel. It changes the entire look of her, and added to the way she's practically sheathed herself in stiff black leather, there's almost nothing left of the Emma Elsa remembers.

But then, to Elsa's complete shock, this little spark of what Elsa  _has_  to believe is happiness creeps into Emma's eyes as she locks eyes with her and it's like her entire face lights up. Her hair is pulled back, but the wind whipping around her teases a few strands loose, softening her appearance just enough that Elsa actually feels a tiny glimmer of hope bloom in her chest.

As quickly as it came however, that light vanishes and Emma tilts her head curiously, one eyebrow raising carefully.

"Wow, they must  _really_  be getting desperate," she remarks, eyes raking over Elsa.

Elsa isn't sure why that hurts so much because she's not even sure what Emma means by it, but it's enough to make her blush, heart sinking deep into the pit of her stomach.

But then Emma's grinning cheekily at her all of a sudden and she takes a couple of surprisingly languid steps forward.

"What, after all this time I don't even get a hug?" she asks, opening her arms invitingly.

Elsa's mouth parts and she fumbles for a response because she still hasn't quite gotten over the fact that this is  _Emma_  in front of her, and she isn't sure how to keep up with the way the other woman's mood keeps shifting.

Emma doesn't give her a chance to try to work things out however, taking the last few strides that separate them and whipping her hand out to grab Elsa's wrist, pulling her tightly into her arms.

Elsa is too stunned to do anything except let her, and the second Emma's arms are around her, any resistance she might have had melts away. Without conscious thought, her hands come up to clutch at Emma's jacket, and she sighs deeply, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Emma's grip on her is warm and safe, just like Elsa remembers it being, and Regina  _must_  be mistaken, there's no way Emma could ever turn dark, there isn't an evil bone in her body…

Elsa's happiness spikes into pure joy when she feels Emma press a kiss to the top of her head and she only  _barely_  manages to keep from shivering in delight at the feeling. And she knows it isn't a  _kiss_ , not a real one, she understands that, but being this close to Emma has always sent her senses into overdrive and now is no different. If anything, time and distance have just made things exponentially worse and Elsa considers it nothing short of a miracle that her knees don't buckle under her.

She continues to hold onto Emma's arms, more for stability than anything else, as the other woman pulls gently out of the hug. And now she's face to face with that cheeky grin from before and Emma reaches her hand forward to brush away a tear that somehow escaped from Elsa's eye.

"Cry-baby," Emma teases.

Elsa laughs, hastily brushing her own hands over her cheeks in embarrassment in case there are anymore lingering tears, and smiles shyly back up at her. "I missed you," she says, unable to keep the blush from her cheeks. "I'm so…"

Elsa trails off as she lowers her hands back down to Emma's hips, because her fingers just brushed against something cold and hard and metallic, which she wasn't expecting. Her gaze dips curiously to her hands and she realizes that what she just felt is a large, jaggedly-shaped dagger hanging from the belt at Emma's hip.

Her fingers retract from the weapon reflexively, almost like she's afraid of being burned-- this has to be it, the dagger Regina told her about, and all of a sudden that sneaking fear from before starts to creep back into her, sending a shiver up her spine. She doesn't like this dagger, or its place on Emma, and she isn't sure if it's just her imagination or if there really is this dark tendril of power emanating from it, curling around the bones of her hand where she had just touched it.

"I…" Elsa tries again, trying to remember her train of thought from before it was so startlingly derailed. Her gaze flits back up to Emma's face, hoping the other woman didn't notice, only to find that that flinty hardness in her eyes from before is back and she's studying Elsa coldly.

"Huh," Emma muses distantly. Her voice is harsh, guarded. "Guess I was right after all."

"Emma…" Elsa murmurs, hand going to the other woman's shoulder placatingly. Emma intercepts her, snatching her wrist and forcing her hand back down, closing it over the hilt of the dagger and stepping into her close enough that she's forced to speak into her ear.

"This what you're here for?" she growls lowly, voice barely above a whisper. She guides Elsa's hand in an odd stroking motion down and then up the length of the dagger. Elsa tenses, trying to back away, but Emma's other arm is still wound tight around her waist and she isn't letting go.

"Emma please, this isn't what you think…" Elsa stammers. 

"Oh no?" Emma asks, shifting back just enough so she can look at her. She releases Elsa, unlatching the dagger from her belt and twirling it absently in her hand. Elsa tries not to flinch at how close it flashes to her face. "So this isn't you trying to trick me into giving up the dagger then?"

She flips the dagger in her hand and Elsa jumps as the point of it is suddenly pressing lightly into the dip of her collarbone. She gasps sharply, hands coming up automatically in a sign of surrender as she takes a blind step backwards, trying desperately to put some distance between herself and the weapon. Emma follows her smoothly step for step, stance strangely predatory as she continues to follow just close enough to keep the tip of the dagger to Elsa's throat. A frighteningly un-Emma-like sneer creeps across her face and she lifts one eyebrow.

"This  _is_  really you, right?" she asks suddenly, tone split evenly between suspicion and amusement. "Not some trick of Regina's or Gold's? It'd be just like them to try to use a likeness of  _you_  to get under my skin."

"No-- Emma, I'm--" Elsa gasps again as she feels her back collide with something behind her and she realizes she's backed herself up against the wall of one of the few still-standing buildings in the square. Her heart hammers fearfully in her chest and she fights to keep her powers in check-- if she were to lose control right now, she could accidentally kill them both.

She swallows nervously, trying to use the presence of the wall behind her as a sense of reassurance, rather than a trap. "I'm not here to trick you, Emma," she says as firmly as she can. "Regina-- your friends-- your family-- they're all worried about you. I'm worried about you too, I just…I want to help you…"

"You want to  _help_ me?" Emma interrupts, eyebrows raising. She stares hard at Elsa for a moment, and then that grin is back, flashing and white, and she straightens back, the dagger in her hand disappearing in a small black swirl of magic. Elsa doesn't know where it's gone to.

"Well that's awfully nice of you," Emma continues, tone almost amiable. She braces one hand against the wall right by Elsa's head and leans in just slightly, smirking down at Elsa. "What'd you want to help me with exactly?"

Elsa exhales shakily, gaze flickering subconsciously down to Emma's lips, before she's able to level her gaze back up at her. In these boots, Emma has a good several inches on her and she practically towers over her, making Elsa feel small and powerless…which, to some extent, she supposes she is right now.

"You're not yourself right now, Emma," she says carefully. "If…maybe if you'd just come back downtown with me, Regina could--"

Emma cocks her head, smirk widening. "I'm not acting like myself right now?" she echoes, sounding amused.

Elsa stares at her, anger flaring suddenly, offering her a small reprieve from her fear. 

"No, you're not," she says firmly. "Emma you're…destroying the town, you pushed your family away-- you're  _hurting_  people.  _None_  of that is like you. Regina was right, whatever this… _darkness_ …is, it's causing you to act in a way that isn't you at all. And if you'd just let me--"

"I'm acting  _exactly_  like myself," Emma interrupts, eyes hardening again for just a moment. She pushes herself off the wall, taking a couple steps back and turning to look around herself. The wind rises slightly and Elsa braces herself, unsure if it's because of Emma, or just because that's something the wind does sometimes.

Emma glances back at her over her shoulder, flashing a grin at her. "And it's not darkness, Els," she adds. "It's freedom."

"Freedom to what, destroy an entire town?" Elsa counters disbelievingly. This can't be Emma. "Freedom to displace hundreds of people from their homes, attack the people you're supposed to love, the people who love  _you_ …?"

"Who says they love me?" Emma asks, shrugging carelessly. "Anyway, love's just a way of controlling someone, it's not anywhere near as nice as they make it sound. For four years now they've used me as their Savior. You think I ever asked to be that for them? They took me away from my life, they trapped me here, and they called it love in order to get me to stay. But now? Everything's clearer to me. I'm free to live for  _me_ , I don't have to be responsible for their every tiny ridiculous problem. Anything I want, I can have. Nothing's in my way anymore, nothing can hold me back."

She turns back around to face Elsa fully, and smirks. "You'd know a little something about being held back, wouldn't you Els?" she adds.

Elsa stiffens defensively. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demands, voice coming out weaker than she intended.

"Oh come on," Emma laughs, and Elsa wishes it didn't sound so much like the laugh she remembers. "I don't think I've ever met someone who holds themselves back as much as you do, Els. Except maybe Regina of course, but at least she  _used_  to be fun…before she got all self-punishing and boring like she is now."

Emma takes a small step in her direction. "But  _you?"_  she continues. "I don't think you've  _ever_  just let yourself be free, have you? Just let yourself do exactly what you wanted to do, no fear of consequences."

"You'd be surprised," Elsa says softly. "But it's not  _freedom_ , Emma, it's just running away, it--"

"I'm not running away," Emma says. She smiles and takes another couple steps forward. "I don't need to. I don't have anything to be afraid of. See?  _That's_  freedom."

Elsa feels the muscles in her back tighten as Emma approaches her, slow and predatory. The older woman's lips quirk up at her.

"Tell me there isn't something you've always wished you had the courage to do…or someone you've always wished you had the courage to be with," Emma continues, eyebrow cocking almost playfully. "Imagine how much happier you'd be if you weren't so afraid to actually go through with it."

She's looking at Elsa knowingly and Elsa feels a blush rising to the surface of her skin, unable to stop it.

She's almost directly in front of her now, and Elsa feels caught. Emma was always beautiful--  _unfathomably_  beautiful, Elsa thinks-- but this is different. Never before would Elsa have thought to describe Emma as… _seductive._  Beautiful, yes…charming, yes…strong, endearing, charismatic, yes, of course. But there's something about Emma that's shifted. Every wonderful thing about her is still there-- the charm, the strength, even the playfulness. Only now, all those things have an underlying darkness to them, a sense of danger, and uncontrollable power, and Elsa feels paralyzed.

"That's all it is," Emma goes on. "Fearlessness. Not darkness. See Els, I'm still  _me_ , I'm still the same Emma Swan you've always known. It's just that now I'm not scared anymore. I'm not scared to be who I really am, or to do what I really want to do…"

She takes one more step forward and Elsa becomes startlingly aware of the heat radiating off her.

"And I'm pretty sure," Emma continues, "that what I really want to do right now," she tucks a loose strand of hair behind Elsa's ear, "is something you've wanted since about the first time you saw me."

She starts to lean in, and Elsa jolts back-- remembering too late that she's cornered against a wall and there's really nowhere for her to go. "What are you doing?" she demands, voice high-pitched in alarm.

Emma rolls her eyes and smirks. "Come on, Els," she laughs again. "You can't lie to me, I've got my super power, remember?" Her fingers slide back to cradle the back of Elsa's neck, thumb brushing along the corner of her jaw. "For someone who tries so hard to conceal everything she's feeling, you were never all that good at hiding the way you felt about me," she clarifies with a confidential wink.

Elsa's pretty sure she blushes all the way down to her toes, and she's too shocked to do anything but stammer out, "I-I didn't--"

"It's okay," Emma says smiling, and for the first time her tone is actually gentle, startling Elsa into silence. Her eyes dance mischievously, but not unkindly, and this tiny thread of hope races through Elsa because her look is so very  _Emma_  right now, so  _bright_ , so  _alive._

"It's okay," Emma says again, this time softer, and she lowers her head.

Elsa gasps as she feels Emma's lips on her throat, mouth soft but almost searingly hot. The older woman presses in close and begins trailing kisses down the side of her neck, one hand still cradling the back of her head, the other sliding down to dig fingers into her hip. Elsa opens her mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a needy-sounding whimper as sharp teeth nip at her skin, and a soft tongue flicks out immediately after to soothe the hurt.

When Emma latches down on the patch of skin just beneath Elsa's ear and sucks, there's nothing Elsa can do to stop the way her legs nearly give out-- luckily Emma seems to be ready for that, hand gripping firmly at her waist to steady her, and knee nudging forward between her legs for support.

Elsa stutters out a moan, fingers clutching gratefully at the material of Emma's jacket and eyes slipping shut, because every nerve in her body feels like it's on fire from Emma's mouth at her throat, and her thigh rubbing up between Elsa's legs in a way that makes Elsa see stars. And somewhere, way in the back of her mind, she's vaguely aware that she's supposed to be doing something…or maybe looking for something? There's a reason why she came here in the first place, she thinks, but she can't quite manage to keep hold of a thought long enough to remember what that reason is because the number of times she's imagined Emma touching her like this, kissing her like this…and now to have it actually  _happening_ , not just some fantasy, not just some wish, but  _real_  and  _solid_  and  _oh god,_  this is all Elsa wants...

She whimpers again as Emma chuckles darkly against her skin, breath tickling the shell of her ear. "Wow, I knew you liked me but I didn't realize you had it  _that_  bad," the older woman murmurs laughingly, and the haze of lust in Elsa's head clears just enough for her to realize that she's been grinding shamelessly down on Emma's thigh, and not so much breathing heavily as actually panting, heart racing as if she ran a mile to get here.

The tiny moment of clarity allows Elsa's mind to finally catch hold of her and all at once she remembers what she's supposed to be doing here. Shocked by her own lack of control, she tries to push Emma off her; the other woman barely budges.

"Let go," Elsa orders, still too breathless to sound all that commanding.

"Oh come on," Emma mutters laughingly, leaning back in, but Elsa pushes back again, this time managing to squirm her way out of Emma's hold and stepping clumsily away from her. She stumbles a little bit, legs still weak, and Emma actually reaches out to catch her arm and help steady her. "You okay?" she asks, brow creasing.

The gesture almost ropes Elsa back in again, but before she can give into it, she takes another step away, pretty sure the only way she can remain in control is if Emma isn't touching her.

"I need to go," she says as firmly as she can manage, turning away.

"Go?" Emma echoes behind her, and she actually sounds genuinely confused. "What do you mean  _go?_  Go where?"

Anywhere, Elsa thinks. Anywhere that isn't here. She feels panic rising in her. This was a mistake-- she was wrong to think she'd be strong enough to do this. She wants to go home, she wants to find Regina and get out of here, because this isn't Emma, this isn't  _her_  Emma, and Elsa just proved herself to be completely powerless against her, completely ineffective. She's failed Regina, she's failed Emma, she needs to get out of here, she can't risk getting drawn in again, she needs to…

"Elsa wait up--" Emma calls, and the sharp clack of footsteps on concrete indicate that she's following after Elsa now.

"Leave me alone," Elsa tells her without looking back because even the  _sight_  of Emma is enough to make her feel weak.

"Look-- I'm sorry if I upset you okay, I won't do it again if you don't want-- Els, you don't have to be afraid of me!" Emma insists. There's nothing teasing in her tone anymore, she actually sounds sort of upset, sort of anxious. Or maybe Elsa just wants to believe that. Maybe she just so desperately wants this to be Emma, wants this to be real, that she's imagining sincerity where there is none.

She jumps nearly out of her skin when she feels Emma's hand close loosely around hers, and without thinking she sends a surge of her power to the concrete, icing a small patch of it over. She doesn't want to hurt Emma, but she wants her to let go, because that's the only way Elsa can stay strong enough to get away.

Emma slips, because she was caught off-guard and because those boots were not made for ice, but she manages to keep a hold of Elsa's hand, bringing her crashing down to the ground with her. Finding herself directly on top of her, Elsa scrambles to get to her feet, but Emma's hold on her is firm and she wrestles Elsa back down, pushing her into the ground so that her back is pressing hard into the damaged ruins of what used to be a road, loose stones jutting up uncomfortably into her spine.

Elsa struggles, panic mounting in her and she isn't even completely sure why, but Emma holds her down seemingly without effort.

"Elsa _stop_ \-- I'm not going to hurt you!" Emma exclaims suddenly. There's something urgent in her tone that hits Elsa like a sledgehammer and she stills her motions, looking up at the other woman.

Emma is looking down at her with eyes wide. And she still has Elsa pinned at every point, but there's something so startlingly pleading about her expression that Elsa forgets to feel scared for a moment.

"I promise I won't hurt you, Elsa," Emma says again and the tone of her voice is just as apologetic as the look on her face. She sighs and leans forward, head dropping against Elsa's shoulder for a moment, almost like she feels defeated.

"Just please don't leave," she whispers.

Elsa's chest tightens painfully. It's an unsettlingly vulnerable request, especially given how polar opposite Emma was acting just moments before. Elsa doesn't want to trust it, it could just be a manipulation of some kind-- but she can't think of a reason Emma would  _have_  to manipulate her. If Emma is truly as dark as Regina said, Elsa could understand the coldness, and the taunting, and the…lust…but for the life of her, Elsa can't figure out either a malicious or logical reason why Emma would risk making herself sound vulnerable…unless she actually meant it.

Elsa gazes up at her, wishing she had that thing Emma calls a super power, whatever it is that helps her figure out if someone is telling the truth or not. She doesn't want to be manipulated by Emma-- she doesn't think she'd be able to survive it. Aside from her sister, Emma is the only person Elsa has ever reached the point of truly  _trusting_ , without hesitation, without question. At least before. Now though, she doesn't know if she  _can_  trust Emma, and Elsa thinks it might kill her if she were to learn that Emma's plea was a false one.

But if nothing else…if absolutely  _nothing_ else…Elsa is intimately familiar with how Emma looks when she feels truly vulnerable. And the look Emma had a year ago when she was about an inch away from giving up her powers is the exact look she has now-- afraid, but more than that, angry at herself for being afraid in the first place.

And if Emma's afraid, that means the darkness doesn't really have her. 

Not completely, at least.

Running on pure desperation now, Elsa dares to lift her hand up to Emma's face, pulling her down gently so their foreheads touch, Emma's feverishly hot, Elsa's ice cold. Then, nerves firing like cannons, Elsa cranes her head up and presses a tentative kiss to her lips.

It's maybe the most daring thing she's ever done before-- Elsa's never kissed anyone, not in her entire life. And part of her, some stupid, idealistic part of her can't help but remember all Emma's stories about True Love's Kiss, and the way it's supposed to be able to break any curse. Maybe…she'll never admit this…but maybe she was thinking-- hoping-- that if she kissed Emma, all this would go away. She remembers the way that pulse of light and magic exploded around them a year ago when she took hold of Emma's hand and convinced her not to give up on her powers…maybe that will happen again, and everything will just go back to normal, and Emma will be Emma again and the two of them could just…be happy. Together.

But as she pulls reluctantly away, there is no pulse of magic, no swirling colors, no sudden sunshine or explosion of rainbows. It was just a kiss, and one too brief and hesitant for Elsa to have even enjoyed…

Her breath catches when Emma finally opens her eyes as they separate and gazes down at her. Elsa doesn't think she's ever seen eyes so dark before and the other woman shifts over her, thigh nudging forward again to press up between Elsa's legs.

"Don't leave," Emma whispers again, and soft as it is, there's no mistaking the command laced in with the plea this time and Elsa whimpers involuntarily at the sound.

She has no defenses left as Emma leans down and catches her lips again, motions much more sure than Elsa's own tentative attempt at a kiss. She  _wants_  to resist-- she does-- she wants to push Emma away, somehow force some sense into her, slap her, beg her to see that there's something wrong, something horrible and destructive about her that needs to stop.

But Emma keeps teetering between uncaringly reckless and desperately vulnerable, and right now all Elsa can hear is that "Please don't leave" over and over again, and all she can feel is Emma's mouth on hers, kissing her hungrily, like she needs her, and at the end of the day there's nothing Elsa wants more than for Emma to need her.

Without conscious thought, she feels herself opening up to Emma completely. Emma kisses  _hard_ \-- it's overwhelming, how soft her lips and tongue are, but how urgent and dominating at the same time. Something deep in her core clenches, a feverish satisfaction grabbing hold of her, because this is exactly how she imagined Emma would kiss; hard and hungry, with no room for argument.

She whines when Emma pulls back and straightens up, glaring at her to keep her from following. For a brief moment, Elsa thinks she's about to call the whole thing off, but instead the older woman unbuckles her jacket and slips it off over her shoulders, tossing it to the side.

It lands with an oddly heavy  _thunk_  beside Elsa's head-- if Elsa wasn't rendered so completely thoughtless right now, she might have thought the heaviness odd. Instead, all she can do is stare up at Emma's now only tank-top-clad body-- arms, shoulders and even much of her chest on display. The need to touch is almost overwhelming and Elsa reaches up, hands wandering desperately over every inch of skin available to her, too swept up in this feeling of  _need_  to feel ashamed.

Emma allows Elsa's exploration briefly, gazing down at her like she's happy to permit the contact so long as Elsa remains appropriately  _in awe._  Even in this odd haze, Elsa takes comfort in that look-- it's not a nice one, but it's still very  _Emma_ , rather than  _Dark One_. Even as her normal self, kind-hearted as she was, Elsa had always gotten the sense that Emma was a woman with a heavy dose of pride about herself, and liked to have that sense reaffirmed. And while Elsa certainly isn't faking her appreciation right now, it does make it better that Emma is getting just as much out of this as she is.

Eventually though, Emma seems to get a little impatient with Elsa's careful wandering over her shoulders and arms, and she takes hold of Elsa's right hand, guiding it down to the waistband of her leggings, and then down further to cup between her legs.

Elsa moans uncertainly-- the heat between Emma's legs is as startling as it is intriguing, and nerves take hold of her again as she realizes just how out of her depth she is right now. She has no idea what she's doing, not just when it comes to… _this_ , but in a more general sense as well-- that part of her that knows to constantly be on the look-out for danger is operating on high right now, and even the throbbing between her own legs isn't enough to override that little warning of danger in her head.

Emma must notice her hesitation because she cocks her head curiously down at Elsa, still holding her hand against her core.

"Have you ever…?" she breathes and Elsa almost immediately forgets the question because she's never heard a more intoxicating sound than Emma's voice, breathless and husky as it is now.

But then the question hits her, and Elsa looks down, face flushing with humiliation.

If possible, Emma's eyes darken even more and she shifts her hips subtly forward against Elsa's hand. "Never?" she asks, voice filled with…wonder…of all things.

Elsa looks up at her, confused by her tone. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together nervously.

"Never," Emma repeats, voice hushed as she releases Elsa's hand and brings her own up to stroke down Elsa's throat. There's a new kind of hunger in her eyes now as she stares down at Elsa's body-- something possessive, making Elsa shiver. Her hand skims down to the neckline of Elsa's dress and she frowns, looking annoyed by it. She slips a finger under it, tugging just slightly, and Elsa gasps as the entire garment falls apart as if it's made of thousands upon thousands of glass beads and vanishes like it was never there at all.

Emma hums lowly, a look of dark satisfaction crossing her face. Her hands-- steady, and strong, and sure-- glide up Elsa's sides, one reaching further to palm one of Elsa's breasts, squeezing hard. Elsa instinctively arches up into her touch; she's squirming and uttering these small, pitiful sounds, not sure whether she desperately wants this to stop, or desperately wants it to continue for the rest of her life-- either way, she no longer seems to have any control over the way her body is responding to Emma's ministrations.

What tiny amount of control she  _does_  have left, she uses to lift a hand tremblingly to Emma's shirt, using it to try to pull her down closer. It's partially because she wants to feel Emma against her, partially because she can't help but be embarrassed by her nakedness and the way Emma is raking her darkened gaze over her. This all feels like too many firsts all at once, like Elsa's just been thrown to the wolves-- but Emma is pressing in close against her now and moaning deeply as she kisses her and Elsa has never felt so  _wanted_  before in her life, especially not by someone who has consumed her every waking thought since the first moment she saw her…

She freezes as Emma's hand glides up the inside of her thigh, knuckles brushing against her core.  _Too much_ , she thinks frantically,  _way too much._  She twists her body away-- or tries to-- Emma's lean, muscular weight above her doesn't allow for much movement.

"Emma please--" she begs, gasping. She means to say "please don't" or "please stop"-- she thinks-- but she can't seem to get past the word "please" and starts whispering it over and over, forgetting what she was trying to say after that as Emma runs her fingers slickly through her startlingly wet folds, nuzzling possessively at her neck.

This isn't something Elsa is going to be able to fight-- and if she's brutally honest, in this moment, she doesn't  _want_  to fight it either. Emma mouths down her neck, over her breasts, her abdomen, biting here, sucking there-- unbidden, Elsa is reminded of Regina's words that  _this particular darkness exists only to consume the light._  Elsa feels like she's being consumed right now. In almost a literal way. She wants it enough that she keeps arching up into Emma and clutching her tighter, but she's also scared of it enough that she occasionally tries to press away from her too, especially when Emma bites too hard, or grips her too firmly. Emma's onslaught on her body is unpredictable, gentle one second, rough the next, but there's something thrilling about it, something very  _very_ close to playfulness that sets Elsa's heart racing, pushing her headlong into the throes of pleasure, all wariness be damned.

She gulps in a huge breath of air as she feels Emma's fingers enter her without warning. She goes slow, which Elsa is grateful for, but the intrusion still takes her breath away, leaving her paralyzed and gasping as her body frantically tries to adjust itself. It isn't  _painful_  exactly, but it isn't comfortable either; still, something primal in Elsa wants those fingers there, wants them filling her just the way they are, even if she's not sure she likes the feeling just yet.

She gives a sharp cry as Emma begins pushing her fingers slowly in and out of her, thumb rubbing soothingly--  _wonderfully_ \-- at her clit. Slowly, her discomfort starts to give way to something…something  _beyond_  pleasure. It's overwhelming and addictive, and Elsa has the sudden desperate thought that she never wants to be without Emma inside her like this. She cries out again, pressing back into the pavement, knowing her back is likely to be littered with scrapes and bruises when all this is over. She feels like her entire body is being pounded into the pavement, and can't quite focus enough to wonder how it is that something so intrusive and almost violent can feel so amazing-- can even feel like love. One hand darts out blindly in search of something to hold onto, fingers finding the edges of the jacket Emma shrugged off before-- and suddenly Elsa freezes again.

She knows now why the jacket sounded so heavy when it landed. Shuddering as Emma pushes deeper and deeper into her, Elsa's fingers curl warily around the hilt of the Dark One's dagger.

She whimpers weakly, not sure if it's because Emma's going after that place just beneath her ear again, or because there really is something evil about the dagger in her hand. She stares at it, head swimming as Emma drives into her harder and deeper. She knows what she should do-- the dagger is hers, just as she was sent here for. All she has to do is command Emma to stop, and deliver the dagger back to Regina, and then…

And then what? Emma will still be the Dark One, nothing will have changed. She'll just be…tamed. Temporarily. At least she won't be able to be as destructive. She won't be able to hurt anyone anymore.

But  _Elsa_ will have hurt Emma. She will have betrayed her. That's the only way she can think of it because Emma-- Elsa truly believes this-- in spite of everything, Emma still trusts her. She let her guard down-- a couple times-- tonight. And those moments were brief, but they were there, and they were real.

Elsa hesitates for one more moment, and then what few flimsy remainders of a resolve she had left melt completely away as she hears Emma murmur "Elsa…Elsa…" softly against her neck.

Elsa moans in ecstasy at hearing her name spilling so sweetly from Emma's lips. She continues to grip tightly to the hilt of the dagger, forgetting for a moment what it is, she just needs something to hold onto as Emma continues pumping in and out of her. She arches back again, opening herself up willingly to Emma's onslaught, letting her truly consume her because it's not like she ever could have said no anyway.

Emma's weight grinding down into her is a blessing-- if not for that, Elsa's sure she would have floated away by now, that's how disconnected she feels, how high above everything. She digs her fingers into Emma's shoulder, throwing her head back and letting go with a series of piercing cries as Emma pushes her spiraling over the edge.

She quivers through the aftershocks, giving a weak, wordless protest when Emma starts to pull away from her. It makes Emma laugh a little bit, but then the older woman pauses, body going tense with surprise as her eyes fall on Elsa's hand around the dagger.

Her gaze snaps up to lock with Elsa's, a dark mix of apprehension and aggression on her face, like she's daring Elsa to use it. All Elsa has to do is speak and Emma will be back under control-- there's nothing she can do to stop her and Emma knows it.

Elsa lifts the dagger up slightly. Every nerve ending in her body still feels like it's part of some electrical current and she isn't completely convinced she has any real control over herself yet. Still, somehow, she manages to take ahold of Emma's hand and presses the hilt of the dagger into her palm, closing the older woman's fingers around it.

Emma looks down at her, confusion and wariness creasing her brow as Elsa surrenders the dagger to her.

"I told you, I'm not here to trick you, Emma," Elsa tells her softly, voice still breathless. "I promise I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Emma's lips part and her expression softens, almost becoming tender if it weren't for that tiny shadow of darkness still lurking in the corners of her eyes. She reaches down and slides the dagger into her boot before lifting her hand back up to stroke Elsa's cheek softly. Elsa trembles a little bit, not sure if what she's feeling is dread at her inability to get control over Emma, or overwhelming happiness at being held so tenderly by her.

She sighs shakily as Emma leans in and kisses her, slow and gentle this time-- it feels like gratitude, or maybe even an apology for how rough she was with her and Elsa surrenders all too willingly to it.

"Stay with me," Emma mumbles against her lips.

Elsa finds herself nodding helplessly, pressing up to eagerly devour each kiss Emma bestows on her, tongue flicking out to meet hers.

Her fingers skim up toned arms to grip at muscular shoulders, and even that cold pang of fear in her gut can't convince her to let Emma go.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest apologies for how long it took me to reply to those of you who commented/reviewed. I promise I wasn't ignoring any of you, I just had a lot on my plate the last couple of weeks that had to take precedence. But as always, all your comments were deeply appreciated, and I promise to be better about responding in the future. In the meantime...enjoy part 2.

Elsa can't sleep. Which isn't saying much, sleep has never come easily to her. But it's especially difficult tonight as light from the moon glints off the blade of the dagger resting peacefully on the dresser across the room.

She's back at the loft-- Mary Margaret and David's loft-- easily the last place in the world-- in _any_ world-- that she would expect to find herself again. Emma brought them here a few hours earlier after...after they...well, after they... _reunited_.

Elsa shifts a little, trying to be as subtle as she can so as not to wake Emma. The older woman is sound asleep beside her, chest pressed up against Elsa's back, arm laying heavy and warm across her waist. Elsa can _almost_ take comfort in her hold-- except that, rather than the languid, affectionate holding Elsa's been given to believe is common in situations like this, Emma holds her tightly in sleep, not so much the way a lover would, but more the way a child would clutch a favorite toy.

Then again, what would Elsa know. It's not as if she has much experience being held at all, let alone like this, maybe this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

She sighs. Anxieties are starting to gnaw at her again, made worse now when everything else is so quiet. She turns over as quietly as she can to look at Emma. Her heart sinks a little bit looking at her. Even in sleep, Emma's brow twitches, a frown tugs at her mouth. And Elsa doesn't think that's because of the darkness in her-- she gets the feeling Emma has always been equally troubled in sleep as she is in wakefulness.

She should probably stop trying to pick out differences between "Emma" and "the Dark One" seeing as they're both one in the same now, she thinks. But she can't help but feel like there are moments that are so distinctly familiar, and others that are so foreign...Elsa doesn't know. She just can't quite imagine the Dark One pleading "Stay with me." She can't imagine the Dark One fearing loneliness-- but she can definitely imagine Emma fearing it.

Pressing a soft kiss to Emma's brow, she eases carefully out from under the older woman's arm, standing and beginning to look around the room. She runs her fingers over the window sill, over picture frames, and little trinkets that must have been important at one point. She wonders if it means something, that Emma is still staying at the loft. With her...frankly, terrifying amount of power, it seems like it would be so easy for her to create a new, bigger, grander place to live.

Instead, she's here. She's here in this place that has been abandoned by her family, but is still home. It's an empty shell of a home, but it's still a home.

She hesitates when she comes to the dagger laid out on the dresser. The way the moonlight glints off its jagged side-- it almost looks like a twisted, sinister grin gleaming out of the darkness at her. Elsa's fingers twitch and a wave of icy cold guilt plunges into her stomach. Maybe she should have just taken the dagger and delivered it back to Regina as they'd planned. What good can possibly come from her just... _staying_...with Emma? And staying how? And for how long? Until Emma magically snaps out of this darkness? Until Regina grows desperate enough to try to go up against her? Until Emma just loses herself completely and destroys everything around them?

No. That won't happen. She needs to get a hold of herself. She hasn't lost Emma yet, she just _feels_ that way because of the dagger, because of the way it seems to be winking slyly at her, daring her to try something.

Well Elsa refuses to be afraid of something that doesn't even have a pulse. She _can't_ be afraid of it, not if she's going to be of any use to Emma whatsoever. Taking a deep breath, she stretches her fingers out just slightly, drifting them lightly over the blade.

She braces herself for something-- a shock, or a sting, or that sneaking cold she felt from before-- but nothing happens. It's just a dagger, just a powerless, inanimate object. Nothing to be afraid of.

Emboldened, she runs her fingers the entire length of it, daring it right back to do something to hurt her. It remains as motionless and harmless as an inanimate thing should and Elsa's confidence grows.

...And then plummets abruptly as she hears the floor _creak_ behind her.

She barely has time to register the sound before Emma is pressed up lightly against her back, one arm snaking around her waist, the other reaching out to join Elsa's hand at the dagger. Elsa immediately makes to retract her hand from the blade, because this definitely doesn't look good-- it probably looks like she snuck out of bed to get her hands on the dagger-- but Emma's just tracing it idly with her, fingers brushing against hers casually.

"I uhm, hope I didn't wake you," Elsa offers, trying to ignore the way her pulse is racing and the hairs on the back of her neck are standing on end.

"'S'no problem, I'm a light sleeper," Emma tells her, voice husky from sleep. "I got worried when I woke up and you weren't next to me. Thought I dreamed you."

Elsa fights back a whimper as Emma bites her ear, almost like she's testing to make sure Elsa's real. 

Or punishing her for having left.

Elsa shakes her head, offering what she hopes sounds like a real laugh. "Of course you didn't dream me, Emma, I just..."

She just what? Was terrified of an inanimate object and needed to convince herself not to be? Was worried she's made a horrible mistake in choosing to side with the woman she's been secretly in love with for so long?

At a loss for an explanation, she traces the engraving of _Emma Swan_ against the blade nervously, aware that Emma's eyes are trained tightly on her fingers, watching.

When she reaches the "n" of _Swan_ Emma catches her pinky with her own, interlocking them. She presses a lingering kiss to Elsa's temple before angling her head forward again, resting her chin on Elsa's shoulder.

"I can trust you, right? she asks lowly against Elsa's ear.

Elsa shivers, a little tendril of fear sneaking up her spine because Emma is holding her just a little too tightly, and her voice is just a little too dark.

"Of course you can, Emma," she answers quickly, voice squeaking slightly.

Emma nuzzles possessively into her neck. "Good," she murmurs. She lifts her hand to Elsa's chin, tilting it back so she can catch her lips with her own, kissing her deeply. Elsa's heart is still pounding, because it feels more like a warning than a kiss, but rather than any desire to stop, Elsa just feels herself opening up under her again.

Before anything can get too heated, however, Emma pulls away, hand sliding down to trace over Elsa's back. Elsa flinches as her thumb brushes over one of the myriad of scrapes and bruises scattered across her shoulders and spine from their...from what they did outside in the street.

"I really hurt you, didn't I," Emma observes, dropping a careful kiss to her shoulder before tracing over it with her finger again. "If you want, I can heal you...don't know if you've noticed, but I've got a couple of fancy extra powers at my disposal these days..."

"No--" Elsa wheels in her arms to face her, only to find Emma gazing openly at her, hair down and tousled from sleep. And that isn't fair. It isn't fair for Emma to look like this, she needs...Elsa just really needs Emma to either be as dark as the "Dark One" title suggests, or to just...be Emma again. She can't deal with both, or the way she can never be sure which one she's going to get.

"You don't need to heal me, I'm okay," she assures Emma.

"It's no big deal, I mean, look I can just--"

"Emma-- no, I don't..." Elsa takes hold of Emma's hand, stopping her gently. She can't say _I don't want you to use your powers_ because that makes it sound like she's afraid of them. Which...she is, but she knows that telling Emma that would just make things tense between them. The truth is, she wonders if maybe Emma might be less apt to give into her darker tendencies if she doesn't use her magic. And yes, it seems like Emma's intentions are _good_ here, she wants to _heal_ Elsa-- but it still all just feels like too much power, used too easily.

"I don't want you to heal me," she says firmly, but kisses the tips of Emma's fingers to soften the refusal. "I don't mind a little pain, it...just makes it more real. What we did." She steps into her, tangling their fingers together. "I like feeling like I belong to you."

She's surprised to hear her own voice come out somewhat coy, and apparently so is Emma, whose eyebrows raise slowly at her tone. Then a grin spreads across the older woman's face and she presses in, kissing Elsa hungrily.

For a second, Elsa gets a small taste of power-- knowing that _she's_ the one that caused Emma to react like that...it's a thrillingly addictive feeling. She twists her fingers back in Emma's hair, tugging a little to get just another little taste of that power, feeling it spark something in her as Emma groans and pushes her hips back against the edge of the dresser.

She was so caught up in the surreal shock of being with Emma before, she had barely been aware of what she was doing. But now, she's more...alert. More aware that everything she does causes a reaction in Emma. Every touch, every sound, every minor hurt urges Emma one way or the other. Emma may still technically be in control, but this time, Elsa is the one guiding her.

She moans loudly as Emma backs her up to the bed and pushes her down. For some reason, Emma's aggressiveness makes her feel more relaxed, and she pulls her in close, shuddering at the feeling of Emma stretching and straining against her. The older woman is more physical this time, using her whole body to drive against Elsa and it suddenly dawns on her that Emma _wants_ her-- really _wants_ her.

The older woman cants her hips, thrusting against her, and Elsa shifts up to match her movements, getting lost in the feeling of scorching heat and wetness against her. Emma's moaning with both pleasure and exertion, and Elsa can already feel where the insides of her thighs will be bruised tomorrow, finding it intoxicatingly satisfying that she's the one causing Emma to fuck her so vigorously.

At last, Emma's motions become quicker and more erratic against her, her cries louder and more urgent, and then she's shuddering above Elsa, muscles slowly going limp as she continues to bury her head into Elsa's neck.

Elsa holds her, too struck by the realization that Emma just came against her to be able to do or say anything except pant up the ceiling, heart thundering in her chest. She runs her hands down Emma's back soothingly as Emma slows her breathing, feeling beads of sweat gathered on both their skin.

Elsa feels too hot, and drenched, and sticky to have Emma's added weight settled on top of her like this, but at the same time, she doesn't want her to move an inch. She's never seen another person come-- never _made_ another person come-- and she just can't shake this overwhelming feeling of...she isn't even sure what to call it. Joy? Power? Love? All she knows is that her entire body is thrumming with pleasure and all she can do is continue to hold Emma to her, running her fingers through her sweat-dampened hair.

"Fuck, I'm so glad you're here," Emma mumbles sleepily into her neck.

Not even the dagger, still glinting at her from across the room, can dampen Elsa's spirit right now.

*

Emma isn't there when Elsa wakes up next. Neither is the dagger. There is a note though, on the pillow, saying she'll be back in a couple hours and that Elsa is more than welcome to "raid the fridge."

Elsa wonders where it is Emma has gone to-- what it is that she _does_ now that she's the Dark One, now that she's practically destroyed the entire town. She knows there are still some people staying here, holding on. Does Emma... _do_ something with them? What's left for someone like her to do in such a broken place?

It's lighter outside, Elsa notices, enough to make her think it must be morning, though still dark enough to feel unnatural. She wraps the sheet around herself, slipping out of bed and heading back for Emma's dresser. The older woman completely destroyed her dress yesterday and Elsa isn't about to spend her entire time here completely naked. Emma still has all her old clothes from before-- jeans, T-shirts...not at all what Elsa's used to, but she'll have to make do.

She has to wear _something_ if she's going to go find Regina.

She just wants to speak to her, be honest about the decision she's made. Regina looked so defeated yesterday-- Elsa's loyalties are still with Emma, they'll always be with Emma, but she at least wants to _try_ to make Regina understand. Maybe it's too much time spent with her sister, but she wants so badly to believe this can all work out-- for everyone. Maybe Emma's flip-flopping is a sign that there really is still hope. Maybe things don't have to be as black and white as everyone seems to think they are.

Pulling jeans on, and a plain white T-shirt over her head, Elsa makes her way downstairs, and out to Regina's vault.

*

_"Tell_ me you're joking," Regina says the second her gaze falls on Elsa and the clothes she's wearing.

"Well well," comes a second voice from further in the vault, and Elsa tenses as Mr. Gold ambles forward. She does her best to hide a shiver of revulsion as his eyes cast slowly over her. "So much for your virgin sacrifice idea, dearie," he drawls at Regina.

Regina shoots a dark look at him. "I don't know what you're talking about," she growls.

"Oh, sure you do," Mr. Gold says amiably. "Send a pure little soul into the belly of the beast to save the day..." He snaps his fingers. "...But oh wait, the beast ate the pure little soul up. That's the problem with relying on innocence, dearie. It's rather easily...corrrrrupted." He says the last word with a dramatic roll of the tongue, and fixes Regina with a pointed glance. "Would have thought _you_ of all people would have figured that out ages ago."

"I'm not _corrupted,"_ Elsa pipes up, frowning. She isn't sure why she feels so...attacked...by the _virgin sacrifice_ quip, but she does. Like she was just some kind of powerless, brainless child, like she didn't have a choice. She _did_ have a choice, and she chose Emma, all on her own.

And granted, there's still that small, traitorous voice in the back of her head questioning whether or not that choice was a _good_ one, but all the same.

She levels her gaze with Regina. "I just came by to let you know that I can't help you," she says firmly, keeping her voice intentionally cold. "I didn't want you to wonder, or..." she stops herself from saying _worry_. Regina probably wouldn't worry about her anyway. They aren't friends. They may have shared a moment of solidarity yesterday, but that's hardly friendship.

"I've decided to stay with Emma," she goes on, as matter-of-factly as she can.

"For the love of Christ," Regina mutters into her hands. "The sex could not possibly have been _that_ good that you've decided to spend the rest of your life as the Dark One's _pet_."

"I'm not anyone's _pet_ ," Elsa snaps, face flushing. "And she isn't just the _Dark One,_ she's _Emma_. Your _friend._ And you've just... _given up on her--"_

_"Given up on her?"_ Regina snarls disbelievingly, and Elsa tenses as the older woman takes a threatening step toward her. "Let's make one thing very clear here-- you haven't _been here_. You haven't _seen_ what your precious _Emma_ has done to this town. To my _son._ To _me._ What do you think the Dark One does with her free time, goes around adopting puppies and kittens?"

Elsa stares blinking at her because she doesn't think she's ever seen Regina respond to something with anything more emotive than bitter sarcasm. 

"You've been here for a grand total of twenty-four hours, during which all you've managed to do is lose your virginity to an out-of-control, evil dark entity," Regina rails on. "Which... _congratulations_ , I suppose, I hope it was _everything_ you ever dreamed it would be," she adds, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You don't _know_ what this has been like. Look around you, Elsa. _Wake up_. Emma has been chipping away at this town for _months_. She'll have fun for a while with a pretty little thing like you, but eventually she'll get bored, and she'll destroy you too."

Regina looks a little calmer now, taking a more placating step toward Elsa. "I didn't bring you here so you could save Emma," she tells her, sighing. "I brought you here so you could save _us_. Get the dagger, that's all I asked of you. I didn't ask you to try to _understand_ her, or try to _change_ her, or try to _bring her back_. I asked you to get the dagger so she could be stopped."

Elsa swallows, caught off-guard by Regina's emotional outburst. But even still, she isn't quite ready to give into Regina's words, she can't help but challenge her statement. "Stopped from what?" she asks carefully.

This time it's Mr. Gold who steps forward. "From doing what the Dark One does best," he says with a lift of his shoulders. "Getting more power."

Elsa looks at him uncertainly. "I don't understand how that's..."

"It's quite simple really," Mr. Gold interrupts. "A person is only powerful so long as they have nothing to fear. It is the nature of the Dark One to exist as a supremely powerful entity-- the _most_ supremely powerful entity. How does one become the most supremely powerful entity? By being fearless. How does one become fearless? By obliterating the source of those fears. That's why she destroys, that's why she manipulates, that's why she makes deals with those dull enough or desperate enough to try-- so that she can always remain in power, and always be completely without fear. It's her nature, and the nature of the darkness."

"And either Emma is afraid of...quite a bit," Regina adds, "or she's made a deal with a lunatic who prefers Storybrooke to be designed in post-apocalyptic chic, because ever since she really lost control, she's been taking giant chunks out of the entire town."

Elsa frowns thoughtfully. "She's making deals with people?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

"Of course," Mr. Gold chirps, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not everyone _flees before the Dark One_ , dearie. There are plenty of bad seeds still in Storybrooke who are drawn to her power and hope to make use of it. Of course, they're all fooling themselves-- as long as she calls the shots on a deal, she's always the one in power. That's another function of the Dark One; wish-fulfillment. She's like a genie. A genie in leather and questionable footwear."

"And that's why you're just fooling yourself if you think you have any chance of _changing_ her," Regina adds with a slight growl. _"Wish-fulfillment_. It's the only reason she's keeping you around. You went to her, she gave you your greatest desire, made it real, and the price you've paid is your power-- in this case, your freedom. I sincerely hope you weren't planning on seeing your sister or your kingdom again."

For a split second, panic washes over Elsa and her gut twists painfully in fear. 

But then quite unexpectedly, she realizes something.

"I didn't ask to be with her," she says.

Regina raises an eyebrow curiously.

"She asked _me_ \-- she practically _begged_ me not to leave her," Elsa tells them. Well, that and she'd had Elsa pinned under her. "It wasn't _my_ wish to stay with her. That was Emma. Emma wanted me to stay."

For once, Regina looks uncertain of herself, not sure what to counter that with.

"Ah, well," Mr. Gold says with a faint, somewhat pained smile. "One fear even the Dark One can't destroy is the fear of being alone. You can cause as much destruction as you want to, all it does is leave you lonelier than before. It could be that our dark little Swan is finally starting to figure that out. Make no mistake though, dearie-- and believe me when I say that I'm telling you from experience-- her attachment to you may be real, it may calm her down, it may distract her, it may even turn into love...but being the Dark One is not something even True Love can fix. It's not a curse that can be broken. Even if you're able to bring out the real Emma Swan from time to time, that darkness will never go away. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can save her from it, no matter how desperately you insist on loving her."

Elsa glances carefully at Regina who looks back at her, expression troubled.

"I have to try," she whispers pleadingly. "Just...give me time. Give me time to figure something out. I can't hurt her-- and you know I won't let you hurt her either."

She says the last part more firmly-- not a threat, but a warning. She may have been their _virgin sacrifice,_ but Elsa isn't exactly powerless either. Far from it.

Regina purses her lips, clearly mulling her words over. "Every second she's out of control is another second I have to keep Henry away from Storybrooke, another second I don't get to be with him," she says.

Elsa looks down, guilt creeping at her.

Finally, Regina sighs resolutely and says, "One week."

Elsa exhales gratefully.

"One week, and you've either figured out some goody-two-shoes way to save her, or you find a way to get me the dagger. Otherwise I'll have no choice but to take matters into my own hands."

Elsa can't be sure exactly what Regina means by the last part, but she can't imagine it ending well for any of them. She nods, offering a small, grateful smile, and turns to leave the vault.

*

Walking back to the loft, Elsa can't help but see the destruction around her in a different light. It seems more desperate to her now-- an attempt to obliterate a fear here, an attempt to obliterate another fear over there. She actually sees other people out and about now too. Not many, and none she recognizes, but Regina and Mr. Gold were right, there are still people here, some of them still clinging to their old lives-- some of them, as Mr. Gold said, just trying to be nearest to the new source of power.

She's so wrapped up in her thoughts as she enters the loft that she yelps in surprise when she finds Emma there, waiting for her.

The older woman is leaning against the counter, absently flipping the dagger in her hand, eyes trained darkly on Elsa.

"So?" Emma asks pleasantly. "How was Regina?"


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is NOT the final chapter. Originally, I hadn't planned to go any further than a 3-shot at the most, but at the request of some of you, and also just me getting more excited about it, I've decided to extend this for a couple more chapters. So don't worry too much at the end of this chapter, it's not the end of the end. Still more to come. (Ugh, you guys are killing me, this was supposed to be a short fic...sigh...the things I do for you...)

For the second time in as many days, Elsa feels what it's like to be cold. And now she finally knows why-- it's because she's finally found something colder than herself. 

She's back outside on the street, looking skyward as clouds gather slowly, threateningly across the already dark sky. The air is thick with that coldness-- not something anyone else around her seems to be feeling on the _outside_ , as no one is wrapping their arms around themselves or shivering, but more something that's rooted on the inside.

It's because of Emma, that coldness. And it's different from Elsa's, because Elsa's manifests itself in snow and ice. What Elsa has is magic, but it's still natural somehow. This creeping cold slithering inside her right now is there because of Emma. More specifically, because of Emma's reaction to Elsa's visit to Regina.

Elsa has never been a good liar-- the only way she was ever able to keep her life so secret before was by simply not saying anything at all. Her strengths in deception have always been based in silence, not lies, so when Emma, leaning stiffly against the counter in the loft asked her "How was Regina?" Elsa's mind went completely blank.

And Emma had just stood there, letting that silence wash over them, looking as though it confirmed something in her mind. Her eyes had gone flinty again, and that's when Elsa had first started to notice that disturbing feeling of _cold._ Not on her skin the way she knew other people felt, but inside her.

"Warm and fuzzy as always, I'm guessing?" Emma pressed after a moment. "The two of you spend some quality time braiding each other's hair while you figured out a way get me under control?"

"We weren't trying to get you under control, Emma--"

"Bull _shit_ ," Emma snarled, eyes flashing as she slammed the dagger down onto the counter. 

Elsa jumped at the suddenness of the outburst, her own magic flaring inside her a little in defense as Emma stalked forward.

"She's the one who brought you back here, isn't she?" the older woman demanded.

"Emma--"

_"Isn't she."_  

"Yes, but Emma I-- I couldn't, I couldn't do what she asked, you know I could never hurt you--"

She gasped as Emma's hand closed over her throat, pushing her back against the wall.

"Don't. Lie. To me," Emma growled, and that cold twisted in Elsa's gut. She stared back at Emma in shock, unable to find a voice to speak with and realizing with faint horror that this was because she _had_ no voice. Whether Emma had meant to or not, her power had somehow managed to render Elsa utterly speechless-- so that she wouldn't have to hear her lie.

Emma glared back at her, practically trembling from how angry she was, and a second silence crackled over them, taut and dangerous, interrupted only by the sound of their breathing.

Elsa felt paralyzed-- not only unable to speak, but suddenly terribly aware that if something were to go wrong, if Emma were to actually try to hurt her, Elsa would have to protect herself using her powers, something she would never want to turn against Emma. Their powers were the first thing they ever connected over-- the idea of turning them against Emma felt like a betrayal.

But then, Emma released her, exhaling slowly through her nose like she was making every effort to get herself back under control. 

"I think you should go," she said at last, voice quiet.

"Emma..." and it was a relief to find she was able to speak again.

"Really," Emma interrupted shortly. "I want you out of here. Right now."

And before Elsa could protest again, she waved her arm, and a swirl of black magic coiled around Elsa and all of a sudden she was back here, outside in the street, alone save for that twisting cold.

So here she is.

Elsa stares up at the loft now, at the window she knows leads to Emma's room. She's no stranger to the feeling of being alone, but this...this makes her feel sick. She didn't betray Emma-- at this point, she doesn't think she could even if she _wanted_ to-- but Emma was so convinced, she'd actually stopped Elsa from being able to speak.

She was so afraid she was about to hear a lie, she'd silenced it before even giving it the chance to be the truth.

Mr. Gold was right. It _is_ Emma's fear that makes her so destructive.

Somehow, that's what upsets Elsa the most. Emma is powerful enough to force the world to do what she wants it to do, even if all that means is that she's creating a world made of nothing but her own suspicions and fears. _That's_ the cold Elsa is feeling right now. _That's_ the reason why the clouds are gathering above her head, and why people on the street are making their way swiftly to their houses, or ducking into what few shops and restaurants are still standing and open. Emma's fears are running rampant, and Elsa is the one who brought them into being.

Elsa shivers. If it's one thing she's _very_ familiar with, it's knowing when a storm is coming, particularly one borne of fear. She needs something-- some time, a place to take cover-- something that will allow her to come up with a solution. She can't go to Regina or Mr. Gold, because she knows they'll just take it as a surrender, they'll think she's  given up. And she hasn't. And maybe that's foolish, but she hasn't.

With no option left, she turns down the street and makes her way to the still dimly-buzzing neon sign of Granny's Diner.

*

It's not what she remembers. 

When she was in Storybrooke last, Emma took her to Granny's Diner on several occasions-- mornings, afternoons, nights...and it always made Elsa smile secretly, Emma's almost childish addiction to comfort food. Pancakes, hamburgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, endless amounts of hot cocoa...Emma's sanctuary, in a way.

It isn't like that anymore. First of all, there's no sign of Granny herself, no sign of any of the waiting staff Elsa remembers. The atmosphere is more...bar-like, now. Emma took her to one of those when she was here last too, a _bar_. Elsa remembers liking that one, though she could have done without the heavy smoke smell, unaccustomed to it as she was. She remembers liking the dimness of the lights, though, the way they echoed the dimness of everything else. Things felt comfortably anonymous in that bar. 

Emma had taken her to it just a couple days after their first meeting, insisting that they needed just a _little_ bit of a break from searching for Anna and the Snow Queen. Elsa thinks maybe that was the first night she'd _really_ realized the nature of her feelings for Emma-- hazy lighting and hazy drinks made her mind similarly hazy enough that she didn't try to shut herself up when a little voice in her head kept urging her to brush up against Emma, or nudge elbows with her, or laugh at even the more ridiculous things she said sometimes.

What Granny's Diner is now though...it's a different kind of bar. Dim and hazy as the other one, but there's a loaded tension amongst the people that are there. It isn't comfortable, it isn't safe. The anonymity is still there, but it seems dangerous, like it's giving permission to act in a way that should be unseemly otherwise, rather than offering a sense of comfort.

Elsa bristles a little bit as she enters, feeling several pairs of eyes snap to her and then linger there, roving over her for longer than feels appropriate. Opting to avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone, she stares straight ahead and makes her way to the one free booth in the back, settling herself against the window and watching as a thin fall of rain begins outside.

"Can I get you something, miss?" asks a waiter, a skinny, black-haired boy who has appeared suddenly at her table.

She opens her mouth to respond-- and is immediately interrupted by a man slipping into the seat across from her.

"She'll have what I'm having," he says, flashing a grin at the waiter.

The boy looks uncertainly to Elsa for confirmation-- she isn't too pleased with this development, but to be fair, she wasn't really sure what to order because she's already forgotten the names of all the drinks here, so she just nods politely, because at least this gives her something to do.

"'Kay, I'll...be right back with that," the boy says, brow creasing at Elsa a little.

She turns her attention to the man across from her as the boy disappears behind the bar.

The man grins and points at her.

"I know you," he says.

For once, she's actually grateful for how upset she is, because it gives her a sense of not caring. Normally, she tries to be diplomatic with everyone she crosses paths with-- it's her job, after all. But right now, she can't really be bothered to do much more than give him a bored look and respond with, "I doubt that."

He just continues to grin. "Nah, I do," he insists. "You came here late. Ice Queen, right?"

She continues to look at him without interest, neither confirming nor denying what he's just said.

Her silence makes him laugh. "Ice queen in more ways than one, looks like," he says. "Come on, humor me. I'm buying you a drink after all."

She supposes that's true. Still--

"I'm a little preoccupied right now," she tells him, as politely as she can convince herself to. 

He shrugs. "So share," he says. "I'm a good listener."

Somehow she doubts that, given that he's still here and talking to her when she's shown nothing but disinterest in him.

"I'd rather not. It's personal," she tells him stiffly, willing her eyes to be just as flinty as Emma's had been.

He raises his eyebrows slowly, licking his lips as he stares her down. "Not too friendly, are you," he surmises.

She affords him a tight, very unamused smile. "Well they don't call me 'Ice Queen' for nothing," she says distantly, looking up as the boy returns with her drink. She feels very much on the defensive right now, alone aside from the boy who gives her a sympathetic look like he knows the man across from her is unwelcome. She isn't reaching panic mode yet, as the man has yet to say or do anything particularly threatening, but she still doesn't like this. She doesn't like his proximity, or the way he's telling her what she is, or the way he's insisting on butting into her life when she thinks she's been fairly clear about wanting to be left alone.

More than anything though, she doesn't like how they seem to have an audience now-- the man's friends, still standing over at the bar, but watching them closely.

"I think your friends are missing you," Elsa says, glancing pointedly at them.

"Nah, they're just looking out for me," he answers with a careless smile. "I told them I was going to come over here and get you to have a drink with me, I think they're just waiting to see whether I fall flat on my face or not."

He laughs loudly, like he's expecting her to join in, but Elsa is having a difficult time finding him all that charming.

She slides her drink over to him.

"I'm really not interested," she tells him. She doesn't have it in her to try to soften the blow with humor or politeness. She just wants to be left alone.

The man looks mildly surprised by her bluntness, eyebrows raising again as he casts his gaze over her pointedly.

Then he shrugs, standing to his feet. "Your loss," he sighs with a wink. He leans over pushing the glass back in front of Elsa, face coming suddenly much too close to hers. 

"Little word to the wise though, your majesty," he murmurs confidentially, like he's letting her in on a secret. Hot breath washes over her face, making her tense unpleasantly. "You're not royalty here. Might want to think about acting a little more gracious if I were you."

He winks again, and Elsa recognizes the threat for what it is, sitting back stiffly in her seat as the man raps his knuckles on the surface of the table and saunters back to join his friends.

*

She doesn't touch her drink. She also doesn't move from her seat until the man and his friends have left, and by then, she realizes she still hasn't figured anything out, nor does she have anywhere to stay for the night. She imagines Granny's must still function as an inn, but aside from having no money to pay for a room, she's wary about staying here. The Diner, as with the rest of the town, just feels... _wrong_ to her. Just as much a thinly-veiled threat as the man's words. There just doesn't seem to be anything good or safe left in this town. 

Except for Emma.

Which is just almost hilarious at this point, because Emma is the Dark One. She shouldn't be the safest thing Elsa can think of. Especially not now.

As the crowd at the Diner changes, and the boy from before ends his shift only to be replaced by an older man who doesn't seem to have any of his younger counterpart's sympathy, Elsa realizes she really doesn't have a choice: if she wants to be able to sleep at all tonight, she's going to have to bite the bullet, and return to Regina's vault.

Regina won't turn her away, she's almost sure of it. She won't be kind about it of course, but at least the former Evil Queen doesn't bear her any particular ill will. 

Just disappointment. And maybe distrust. 

Elsa stands and makes her way to the exit, aware that the young waiter's replacement is looking at her paid-for but untouched drink and scowling. She's thankful he doesn't say anything, thankful none of the current crowd gathered here doesn't get in her way. A few leer uncomfortably, a couple even pretend to cross in front of her just for a poor and clumsy excuse to brush up against her, a hand lands on her hip, a mouth gets too close to her ear and hisses something she can't understand-- it makes her skin crawl, but at least that's the worst of it.

She knows from having spoken to Emma about the way of things in this world that this could be much worse. 

And as the man from before said, she's not royalty here. No one would know, nor care, about her title in this crowd. Even her powers thrumming under the surface of her skin provide no sense of comfort-- they feel unreliable, something that will only cause more chaos in an already chaotic place, a violent accident waiting to happen.

Best to disappear from here, she thinks. Regina may not be the warmest comfort, but at least she'll keep Elsa safe, at least for tonight. It's better than nothing, and Elsa really has no other choice.

She steps outside, taking a relieved breath of fresh air. The streets are soaked with the remnants of a short but powerful rain storm, but the night itself is clear. Whatever weather Emma's powers might have subconsciously caused happened while Elsa was inside-- now it's clear enough that Elsa can actually see all the way across town, something she wasn't able to do before with the dark haze that seemed to hover heavily between buildings.

Her moment of peace is shattered abruptly when a low voice growls out, "Well I was starting to wonder when the ice queen'd grace us with her presence."

She wheels stiffly to find the man from before and two of his friends waiting for her in the outside seating area of the diner. Have they been waiting for her this entire time? 

She pushes her panic away as quickly as she can and angles her head proudly-- she may not _be_ royalty here, but she's sure as hell going to _act_ like it, particularly when faced with people like this, people who seem to want to intimidate her, make her feel small-- and begins to stride purposefully past them toward the street, not giving them a second glance.

She gasps sharply as a hand clamps around her arm and one of the men quickly positions himself in front of her, blocking her way. The other two stay behind her, effectively surrounding her, and she's pulled back against the chest of the one who spoke to her at the booth.

In a split second, every nerve in her body fires in full-tilt panic and her powers race through her, ready to burst from her and protect her.

Only...at the points where the man's hands are clamped over her arms making direct contact with her skin, her powers fizzle and die out. Like something is blocking her magic entirely, cutting off her connection to it.

Sheer terror takes over her now and she starts struggling as the man laughs at her efforts, gripping her tighter. 

"No-- none of that," he scolds, mouth hot at her ear. "And none of that ice shit, either, won't work anyway. I took out an insurance policy with the Dark One a little while ago-- I can't be hurt by magic."

Elsa twists in his arms, slamming her elbow back, catching him between the ribs.

_"Shit!"_ the man curses, but just redoubles his hold on her, one hand coming up to yank her head back by her hair.

Tears sting Elsa's eyes, and without thinking she cries out the first name that comes to mind, even knowing there's no way she could be heard by her, and even if she did, there's slim chance of a response.

"Emma!" she screams, throwing her whole weight into trying to break out of the man's hold. "Emma! Please, _Emma!"_

A breeze ripples through the air, eerie and sudden, and even the men seem to snap to attention as that ripple grows heavier into a gust of what appears to be black smoke before them.

The four of them simultaneously hold their breaths as the smoke clears to reveal Emma herself, eyes glittering, her figure sharp and cutting against the backdrop of dull streetlights behind her.

"Emma," Elsa whimpers, tears spilling unbidden out of her eyes as she pulls weakly against the man's hold.

Emma's gaze snaps to her, something flashing across her face as she takes in the scene before her. For a second, Elsa thinks Emma looks afraid-- but it's only for a split second, and then her face hardens and she levels her eyes up at the man holding Elsa.

"Hands off her," she commands, voice snapping like a whip.

"This really isn't your concern, Dark One," the man growls, not letting go.

Emma doesn't bother responding, just lifts her hand in a sweeping motion and Elsa is practically thrown from the man's arms, landing sprawling to the ground a couple feet away.

"The hell?!" the man roars, face red as he wheels on Emma.

She doesn't miss a beat, stalking toward him, hand raising for a second time and the man is wrenched into the air as if by invisible strings, suspending him there like a broken puppet.

His friends are quick to take the warning, scattering and fleeing down the street without so much as a glance back.

"We had a deal!" the man gasps at Emma, and Elsa realizes he seems to be struggling to breathe, like he's being strangled by unseen hands. His face purples and veins pop at his temples. "You can't-- hurt me, magic can't--hurt me-- I gave you-- we made a _deal_ \--"

"The deal was that magic couldn't hurt you so long as you never crossed me," Emma interrupts, voice cold, but not anywhere near as calm as Elsa would have expected. It's strained, rough, like she's wrestling down emotion.

"I didn't--" the man gasps. "--I never-- crossed you-- was just--" his eyes strain to fall on Elsa. "--having some fun-- with her--"

"You hurt something that belongs to me, you've crossed me," Emma tells him, a snarl on her face. The man's eyes bulge in surprise. "Deal's off."

She twists her wrist and all of a sudden the man arches back violently, howling in agony.

Elsa watches paralyzed as he convulses in the air. For a small second, she thinks what she's feeling is horror, before she realizes it's closer to...satisfaction. Cold, sneaking satisfaction. There's a small voice in her head, whispering there, that the man deserves this, that this is what real power is-- the ability to never have to be afraid.

The hairs on the back of her neck raise as a slithering clinking sound lifts around her and she becomes aware that whatever power Emma is giving off has caused hundreds of pieces of glass and scattered debris from the street up into the air. It swarms threateningly-- Emma's gaze is locked on the man still twisting in pain, and the swarm of glass rises like a wave ready to crash over the man.

The scene is so eerily similar to the day that Ingrid sacrificed herself that Elsa is snapped out of her paralysis-- she knows the man meant to do her harm, but this will rip him to shreds. It will kill him. _Emma_ will kill him. That can't...no matter what, Elsa can't let that happen. That would mean that she's really lost her.

"Emma stop!" she cries, her voice getting lost in the shivering clinking and rattling of the wave of glass.

Emma pays no attention to her, drawing her hand back as if she's drawing back the string of a bow. 

Preparing for the killing blow.

_"Emma!"_ Elsa screams again.

Emma makes the most minute movement of her hand and the wave of glass and debris swirls, speeding toward the man with deadly force.

Elsa staggers to her feet and flings herself at Emma, grabbing at her arm in the blind hope that somehow she'll be able to divert the wave away from the man.

Emma jumps in surprise, reflexively pushing Elsa off of her-- directly into the path of the wave of glass.

There's a peculiar moment as Elsa falls back when her gaze locks with Emma. She finds it curious, the way Emma's face goes white as she looks at her, and the way her eyes go wide with what looks a lot like horror.

Then the most excruciating pain Elsa has ever felt in her entire life burns through her entire body and her vision goes dim. And then she's growing smaller...or maybe she's falling to the ground, maybe that makes more sense. She isn't sure, she can't really feel anything.

Black stars scatter across her vision. She thinks she hears a hoarse cry of "Elsa!" but that might have just been the wind. The last thing she sees before she loses sight completely is Emma racing toward her. It's a slow race though, like a race through quicksand. Not really a race at all. 

Then everything inside her shuts down and the world plunges into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone still with me? I know, this one was kinda violent. Promise to go a little easier on you next chapter.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and sorry (AGAIN, ugh I suck) for how long this took to get out there. The project I've been working on for over a year with one of my former employers is coming to a close and of course, everything that possibly could go wrong did go wrong, so I've been in crazy damage-control mode for the past couple weeks. I'd try to promise that that's all over now and that updates will come much quicker...but...that might be a big fat lie. But hopefully not. Know that I really am trying though, and never mean to leave you guys hanging. Thanks for sticking with me, you beautiful things.


	4. 4

There's a sickening feeling of something digging just under her skin. Like something has slipped just between her flesh and her bones, needling around and dragging against the undersides of her muscles.

It doesn't hurt, she's surprised to realize. But it makes her stomach twist and squirm like she's going to be violently ill. She can't see anything around her, and wonders if that's because she's in pitch blackness, or because her eyes are closed. Or maybe she's lost vision completely.

She forces herself to focus just enough...the heaviness of her lids, the flash of muted light just out of her reach, as if veiled-- her eyes are closed, she concludes. That's the reason for this darkness.

God, she hopes that's the reason for this darkness.

She struggles to find control over her muscles-- any muscle at all-- whether it be to wrench her eyes open, or to escape from the horrible grating feeling of whatever is under her skin.

"Don't move," she hears from somewhere above her. Muffled. She still can't see anything, but she strains-- or tries to find the _means_ to strain-- to figure out what it is.

The digging feeling under her skin burns all of a sudden, sending pain tearing through her.

"What'd I just say? Don't move," the voice repeats. Clearer this time. And very...Emma-like.

She doesn't have control over her lungs, but she still feels them expand sharply as that grating feeling slips clear through her. She can't be sure, but she thinks something was just removed from inside her skin. Something painful, though it wasn't painful as it went through her. Almost like someone had moved a piece of her skin out of the way first to make room for the painful thing to leave her.

The thought causes an involuntary tremor to rattle her insides.

"God damn it-- Elsa, stop _moving_ ," reprimands Emma's voice again. "Just a few more. Promise." That part softer.

"I can't see," Elsa tries to say. It feels like it takes all her energy to utter those few words and suddenly this feeling of absolute exhaustion weighs down on top of her.

She hears a sigh above her, and feels the resulting soft puff of breath on her cheek, a welcome change to the unearthliness of the rest of what she's feeling.

"I know," Emma's voice says. "I'll get to that in a minute. Just...keep your eyes closed for now, okay? And don't move."

*

Elsa isn't sure how long it's been-- she must have passed out again not long after that, but she isn't sure if it was for minutes, hours...longer...? Something tells her it was for a very long time though, because suddenly she can feel her muscles again, can actually make her fingers twitch next to her. She isn't sure what she's lying on, but it's comfortable and warm and it smells good. Safe.

There's no more of that grating feeling under her skin either. She feels...clear. Together.

She's afraid to open her eyes though, worried she won't be able to see. That darkness all across her vision had almost been worse than the pain that went with it. She doesn't want to find out that it's a permanent darkness.

She has to find out some time though, she can't just lay here with her eyes closed forever.

So she braces herself, and allows her eyelids to flutter open.

There's light, all of a sudden, and she feels her heart pound with relief.

Her vision is blurred at first, and she isn't quite sure what it is that she's seeing. Black ribbing no more than an inch from her face, some kind of material, and just beyond that, a strip of pale tan.

She squints and lifts her head slowly. Her vision swims for a moment and then clears, and suddenly she's able to see that the black ribbing in front of her is the ribbing of a black tank top; the pale tan beyond is an arm.

Startled, she looks up and realizes she's pressed against a sleeping Emma's chest, gathered up in her arms. She tenses reflexively-- last she remembers, Emma had cast her out of the loft-- which, she realizes is exactly where they are right now.

The tensing of her body seems to wake the older woman, who stirs with a small intake of breath, eyes snapping open to land on Elsa blearily.

The two of them hold each other's gaze for a moment, and then the corner of Emma's mouth twitches upward slightly and her expression softens.

"Look at you, you look much better," she murmurs.

Elsa pulls out of Emma's loose hold and sits up slowly, muscles tightening warily because no, actually, she remembers now that the last time she saw Emma, she wasn't casting Elsa out of the loft, she was torturing and killing a man.

Emma sits up as well, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, a slightly confused frown crossing over her face as she takes in Elsa's expression and the way she's leaning away from her.

"You okay?" she hazards.

"What happened?" Elsa asks stiffly, rather than respond.

Emma holds her stare, looking a little defiant even though Elsa notices her fidget just slightly. 

"I..." the older woman starts to say, and then clenches her jaw, falling into a frustrated sort of silence.

She looks a mess. Dark circles under her eyes, an unnatural pallor to her skin that verges on sickly. Part of Elsa wants to reach out and comfort her-- another part of her keeps replaying the image of her torturing that man, the fury in her eyes, the wave of glass...

"I'm so sorry, Elsa," Emma murmurs finally, her voice hoarse.

And honestly, the last thing Elsa expected to hear from her is an apology, and she looks at her in surprise.

"I swear it was an accident," the older woman continues. "I didn't mean for you to...I..."

She breaks off again, looking lost. "What the hell were you _thinking,_ getting in the way like that?" she demands finally, voice surprisingly soft.

Elsa stares at her. "You were going to kill that man," she says.

"Yeah, I was," Emma asserts without hesitation. She frowns, looking irked. "He fucking deserved it. He...I mean, Jesus, Elsa, you _know_ what he was going to do to you. Even _you_ can't be _that_ pure-hearted that you think he should've been _protected_ \--"

"I wasn't protecting _him,"_ Elsa interrupts, face flushing. The last thing she wants is to get into a yelling match with Emma, especially right now, but she needs to make Emma understand.

"He's the _last_ thing I'd ever want to protect," she goes on. "But I didn't want _you_ to have to live with yourself knowing that you'd _killed_ someone. I wanted...I was protecting _you."_

Emma actually looks fairly startled by that, flinching minutely. Then she sighs frustratedly. "Fuck, Els...I mean you don't actually think..." She pinches the bridge of her nose, and shifts closer to Elsa. "It's not like he would've been the first person I've killed," she says carefully.

Elsa's heart sinks at that, not so much because it's a shock to her, but because deep down, she was afraid that might be the case.

"How many?" she asks, unable to keep the quaver from her voice completely.

Emma just shakes her head. "That's not...look, they deserved it, okay? It's not like I just...go around murdering people, but they...they got what they deserved. Just like that man. They brought it on themselves."

"They brought it on themselves," Elsa repeats, not quite able to believe that it's Emma uttering those words. "So...what then, that man...he's...?"

"Dead? Yeah. And good fucking riddance." Emma looks furious. "Once I brought you back here and healed you I hunted him down, and I killed him, because there's no fucking place in the world for people like him. Not when I'm in a position to keep them from existing. I know you're trying to act like you're on this ridiculously high moral plane because you want me to... _change_...somehow...but you _know_ he deserved what happened to him. I'll bet part of you is even _happy_ he's dead. And you fucking _should_ be."

Emma stands abruptly, looking like she's about to storm out of the room, but then she stops herself, looking frustrated.

"In fact-- you should be fucking happy I even showed up at _all_ , given what you were up to," she says.

"...What I was...?"

"With Regina." Emma swallows thickly, jaw twitching. "You know..."

She breaks off and for a second, Elsa thinks she's just going to stop there. But then the older woman seems to gather herself, angling her head sharply while pinning Elsa with a glacier-cold gaze.

"You know when you first showed up, I actually thought you came here on your own," she says, voice hoarse. "For a split second, when I turned around and I saw you, some stupid part of me actually had this wild idea that you came here all on your own, just because you wanted...I don't know, because you missed me. And wanted to be with me."

Elsa's lips part to try to say something, but Emma hurries on.

"It was just for a second though," she says. "And then I realized, of course, you must've been sent here. By Regina, or Gold, or...whoever the hell else. There's no shortage of people in this town who'd love to get the dagger from me, love to get me under their control."

She frowns, looking puzzled. "I got so angry at the fact that someone would use you-- _you_ , of all people-- to do that to me. It felt...I don't know...just fucked up, that someone would be willing to go that far, that someone would be willing to ruin something like what we...just..." She gets flustered and breaks off again, shaking her head.

"But then at the same time," she continues, even more quietly, "you were all sweet, and vulnerable...easy. _So easy._ And I wanted to hurt you for being part of something that could make me slave to that fucking dagger again. But then, of all fucking things, you just...handed the dagger over to me. And I actually thought, just...fuck...like...maybe you really _were_ here for me, and just me. Maybe you really _did_ come here on your own steam. And just the _idea_ that someone as genuinely sweet, and... _good_...as you, still trusted me, and cared about me, even after all this..."

For a moment, it looks like Emma is going to reach out and stroke Elsa's cheek, but her arm locks at the last minute and she keeps herself still.

"I saw you go to Regina's vault," she says, voice going colder. "And I waited, and I waited, and finally you left, and as you did, you put your hand on her arm, and it just..." she huffs, a completely mirthless little smile curling at one corner of her mouth. "It just really sucked, learning that you really were working with Regina after all."

She tenses her shoulders restlessly.

"So then when I heard you call my name when you were in trouble, I was angry enough that I was just going to let whatever happened to you happen. No worries. Wasn't my problem. But then I just...fuck...like, all these images of you kept...and how you...you're just... _in_ me. And I couldn't ignore your call, even though I _knew_ I should just leave it."

She looks so frustrated and wrapped up in her own thoughts right now, Elsa isn't even sure Emma's really talking to her anymore, just spouting off her thoughts without filter.

"That man got what he deserved," she says again, seeming to refocus a little. "I wasn't going to let him hurt you like that, not _ever_ like that. But that doesn't mean that you and I are..."

She narrows her eyes, stiffening suddenly, like she's just fully realizing how long she's been talking, and exactly what she's been saying.

"I still want you out of here," she says firmly. "You should rest a couple more hours to let yourself heal, but after that, I want you to go back to Regina and have her send you back home. I'd much rather not have you at all than have you knowing you're just here to catch me off-guard so Regina or Gold can swoop in and grab the dagger. Last thing I need right now is _another_ person I ca-- know-- just waiting for me to fall."

"I'm not waiting for you to--" Elsa tries, but Emma holds up her hand.

"You should get some more rest," the older woman tells her again shortly. "I'm gonna go crash downstairs."

"But-- Emma..."

"Just rest, okay?" Emma interrupts without looking at her, making her way to the door. "I don't think you understand how close you just came to dying."

*

Elsa gives sleep her best effort. She _is_ tired-- in a peculiar way that makes her think Emma was telling the truth; she really _had_ been close to dying. It's a frantic kind of fatigue, one she can feel all the way down to her fingers and toes, but not one that's going to allow her to actually sleep. Just toss and turn for hours.

Finally realizing the futility of her endeavors, she sits up, running fingers through her loosened and messy braid. Honestly, she's amazed it's still a braid at _all_ after all it's been through today.

Or yesterday?

She still isn't sure how long it's been, and it's no help whatsoever that Storybrooke is only ever varying shades of darkness to indicate time these days. It seems particularly dark though, not just stormy and overcast, leading her to believe it might be nighttime, or at least fairly close to it.

Which makes her think she's probably been out for almost a full 24 hours at this point.

That's _more_ than enough sleep, she decides-- or at least more than enough odd drifting in and out of consciousness.

She slips out of bed, pausing as she catches her reflection in the vanity by the window. Approaching the mirror slowly, she realizes she's no longer dressed in the jeans and T-shirt she had borrowed from Emma; instead, she's wearing a simple, unardorned, white cotton dress, flimsy and short, bearing far too much skin to count as an actual dress-- it's hardly even enough to be considered a slip. 

Blushing a little bit, she supposes Emma must have had to get her out of the jeans and T-shirt in order to heal her, but she wonders where this dress would have come from. It certainly isn't Emma's-- at least, she can't imagine Emma ever wearing anything so...girlish.

Part of her is surprised that Emma would have even been concerned enough about her modesty to provide her with it.

Moving her attention from her new clothing, Elsa casts her gaze over the rest of her body, studying it carefully. She can't imagine what she must have looked like, after the wave of glass. Was she torn up? Bloody? Was she even in one piece? It seems like she would have been ripped apart, but she sees no evidence of blood stains on her skin, or in her hair, or anywhere else. Just the memory of... _things_...in her skin-- past her skin even, into the bone, into her organs. Unwelcome and horrible.

Absently, she touches her fingertips to the mirror, like she's trying to reach her reflection in there. In an odd way, she actually finds it troubling that there's no physical evidence of the ordeal she went through. She's glad, of _course_ she's glad-- glad to have _survived_ it-- but the striking absence of bruises, or scars, or any marks at all is more unnerving than anything else.

All she has to show for her brush with death is a tangled, messy braid, a drained sort of pallor, and a dress that isn't hers. She feels like she should look more beaten up.

Tougher. 

Instead she just looks...frail. And untouched. Like nothing even happened, except maybe a bad night's sleep.

It's disturbing how much this bothers her.

Her agitation sparks down into her legs, her arms-- she's restless, and surprisingly angry. Never a particularly physical person, she suddenly feels like she needs to just... _move_. Take her frustration out on something. Maybe it's because of how close she just was to death. Maybe it's because, in spite of all Regina's warnings, she never imagined Emma could be so capable of truly _hurting_ her.

Maybe she's just tired of being everyone's virgin sacrifice, everyone's pure, untouchable ice queen with no will of her own.

Taking a shaky breath, she realizes the corners of the windows have begun to frost over, just slightly. She feels dangerously close to losing control and clenches her fists at her sides to reel her powers back. It works after a moment, the frost receding slowly until the window panes look just as pristine as...well, just as pristine as she does.

That prickling energy in her veins is still there though.

Straightening and squaring her shoulders to at least _look_ like she's more in control of her anger than she feels, she pads over to the door, making her way outside to the stairs.

She pauses once she reaches the base of them. Emma is seated on the couch by the window, looking down at one of those little...electronic...things in her hands. Not the ones that they use here to contact each other...the other one. The one full of games that Henry played with all the time when she was here last. Video game. Or something like that.

Emma Swan, the Dark One, is sitting on the couch, playing with her son's video game thing.

But of course, laying right next to her on the cushion, like some sort of terrible loyal pet, is the dagger. Elsa half expects it to start panting up at Emma and begging her for a treat.

Clenching her jaw, Elsa strides over to Emma, who looks up at her, startled, like she didn't hear her come down.

"Els--"

Elsa reaches out and closes her hand around the video game device, taking it gently from Emma's hands and setting it aside before she climbs onto the couch, straddling Emma's legs and sinking down onto her lap.

Emma's hands come up automatically to her waist, bracing and firm, like she's about to push her away, expression distrustful as she looks up at Elsa.

"What're you..."

Elsa leans in and catches her lips softly with her own, silencing her.

Emma stiffens and she pulls away, frowning up at her, but Elsa slips her hand up to Emma's cheek, pulling her back in insistently, kissing her again, harder this time.

Emma groans softly, hesitating just a split second more before finally returning the kiss warily, hands moving slowly from Elsa's waist, down to cup her ass.

Pleasure sparks low and warm inside Elsa at the feeling, and she grinds closer against Emma, letting her hands slip down her arms. She plays her tongue against Emma's lips, being deliberately teasing when Emma opens up for her and answers her in kind. She wants Emma's full attention on this, nothing but this, as she trails one hand down further, skirting the edge of the cushion beneath them until her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger.

It's like Emma can feel it-- the second her hand touches the dagger, the older woman yanks away from Elsa's mouth, hand flying to Elsa's wrist to stop her.

For once though, Elsa is too fast for her, snatching up the dagger and pressing it to Emma's throat, just under her chin.

Emma freezes, entire body going rigid as her gaze shoots up to Elsa, eyes flashing with alarm and chest heaving even as she tries to keep the rest of her body still.

Elsa gazes down at her, that tantalizing little wave of power licking at her as she takes in Emma's expression. She takes a moment to just drink that look in, not used to seeing it, particularly not on Emma.

"Three times," she says softly.

Emma still doesn't move, but her brow creases questioningly.

Elsa takes the time to trace the tip of the dagger as lightly as possible across the strong edge of Emma's jaw before she explains. Emma shivers, and Elsa bites her lip at the feeling.

"I've managed to get my hands on this stupid dagger _three times_ since coming here," she goes on quietly. She uses the tip to lift Emma's chin up, wanting to make sure she has her full attention. Endlessly deep green eyes stare up at her, darkened by wariness, by anger, by the threat of control lost to her.

"And I've never used it against you," Elsa continues. "I've never stolen it from you. I've never used it to force you to do anything. I never even took it back it to Regina which, as you figured out, is why I even came to you in the first place. I've had _three chances_ to, Emma, _three._ And it would have been _so easy."_

She says those last two words in echo of Emma's earlier claim that _she_ had been... _so easy_ , that first time.

So easy.

She realizes her breath is starting to labor slightly and she's surprised to find wetness gathering thick and warm between her thighs. She doesn't mean to be aroused right now, isn't even sure when that happened-- she thinks it must be the way she has Emma completely in thrall, hanging on her every word, her every motion.

She lifts her free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Emma's ear, stroking gently.

"You were right, Emma, the only reason I'm in Storybrooke is because Regina summoned me here," she admits carefully. "And the only reason she summoned me here was so I could get the dagger from you, get you back under control. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again, over and over and over until you get it...I. Can't. Hurt. You."

She exhales shakily, continuing to stroke Emma's hair softly, shifting ever so slightly closer. "I can't lie to you, I can't betray you, and..." She presses her lips together, not sure how to say this. "I want you back. I want Emma Swan back. I want the Dark One gone. I'll admit that. But I'm not going to trick you. Or force you under control. I want _you_ to choose that...I want you to choose me. Or...or choose you, however it is you want to look at it. But whatever it is, I want it to be _your_ choice. Not mine, not Regina's, not Gold's, not anyone else's. Just you."

Slowly, she removes the dagger from Emma's throat, reaching over and setting it aside on the window sill. She feels Emma relax ever so slightly under her once it's there, and slips her hands up to cup Emma's face. It's a relief that Emma allows it, doesn't try to pull away, simply stares up at her.

Then the older woman sighs, and a tight but genuine smile quirks at her mouth. "You're trouble, you know that?" she asks, voice a strangely pleasant growl.

 _"I'm_ trouble--?"

"Yeah. You're trouble. You're too sweet, and too naive for your own good." She's still smiling at this though, almost fondly. "This can't end the way you want it to, Elsa, you can't 'get Emma Swan back' _and_ 'get rid of the Dark One.' We're one in the same."

"I don't believe that," Elsa says firmly. "And I'm not leaving until I prove it to you."

Emma just chuckles, using her hands at Elsa's ass to pull her in closer, squeezing slightly. "Like I said. Trouble. You're going to keep clinging to something that doesn't exist and it's going to bring you down, and me down, and Regina down, Gold down, and...likely this whole town as well. Is that really what you want?"

"I want _you,"_ Elsa says softly. "And if _you're_ not going to fight for you, then I will."

Emma still looks patiently amused, but there is a genuine warmth to her eyes. "You're going to fight to get me back from...me?" she asks, smirking. Elsa squirms a little bit as she slips her fingers under the hem of the dress, starting to push the material teasingly up her thigh. "And exactly how are you planning on doing that?" she asks huskily. "You've said yourself you can't hurt me, you can't trick me, you can't lie to me...so how exactly do you plan on separating the Dark One from Emma Swan? And how do you plan on... _getting rid_ of the Dark One? Hm?"

Elsa swallows against a whimper as Emma's fingers push the hem of the dress all the way up so that it's gathered around her waist, completely exposing the lower half of her body. The older woman shifts her pelvis up slightly, gripping Elsa's waist and forcing her to grind down. Elsa's mind goes blank as pleasure jolts through her and her hands slide down to grip Emma's shoulders for support.

It takes a second for her to remember that Emma just asked her a question-- asked her how it was that she planned to get rid of the Dark One-- and she stammers senselessly for a moment as she flounders to remember her response.

"I was...I wanted..." she whimpers, closing her eyes and forcing herself to ignore that dark fog of pleasure curling low inside her, forcing herself to focus.

At last she opens her eyes, meeting Emma's gaze head-on, resolute save for the shallowness of her breath.

"I want to make a deal with you," she answers finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BumbumBUMMMMMM...Thanks as always for the reviews/favs/follows/kudos/etc you guys! All your continued support means a lot to me! 'Til next time...


	5. 5

_At last she opens her eyes, meeting Emma's gaze head-on, resolute save for the shallowness of her breath._

_"I want to make a deal with you," she answers finally._

Emma's eyebrows raise slowly, and an odd mixture of hesitance, concern, and triumph crosses her features.

Elsa isn't quite sure how she manages all three expressions at once, but in a way, it's nice to see her react so openly, without that defensive wall coming up. It's wiped that smug smirk from before right off her face to be certain, though it has in no way diminished the little shadow of lust in her eyes. If anything, it's tugged at that, making it grow, darkening her eyes even more.

At last, Emma's conflicting emotions seem to settle and she cocks her head, falling back into her smirk, though it's much more careful than before.

"Didn't anyone ever warn you not to make deals with the Dark One?" she asks, simultaneously teasing, and actually warning.

Elsa bites down on her own lip as strong hands grip her ass a little too tightly, a little too wonderfully. She manages a jerky nod, because yes, in fact, pretty much everyone who has ever had any interaction whatsoever with the Dark One-- or _a_ Dark One at least-- has warned her against it. Be it Regina or Mr. Gold, or Anna...or even just seeing what became of the man from yesterday. Countless, countless warnings against making any kind of deal with the Dark One.

Emma's eyes hood slightly at her nod and she smirks again.

"...And...you're ignoring centuries-old advice because...?" she prompts.

Elsa looks down uncomfortably, fingers playing absently at the straps of Emma's shirt. "Don't pretend like you don't know," she murmurs, because she's not about to say something as foolhardy as _Because I love you_ out loud.

When she glances back up, Emma is studying her closely, eyes narrowed slightly almost like Elsa just threw ice cold water on her. It leaves an uncomfortable silence between them and Elsa's insides flip-flop nervously.

Finally Emma sighs through her nose, shifting Elsa on her lap a little bit. "You're too sweet," she murmurs in a low growl. She said much the same thing just a few moments before, but this time it's not an endearment, it's a reprimand. Too sweet. Too easy. Naive. Foolish. Words Elsa has been hearing much too often ever since she got back here.

It doesn't help that those words are actually true. Elsa can't pretend she's as clever or cunning or experienced or brave as the other people in this town, the other people who have had to deal with Emma for months now. She's well aware that she's a lovestruck idiot, she can practically hear Regina's taunts about it, and Mr. Gold's, and even Emma's. She isn't stupid. She knows her naivete isn't exactly a _strength_ here. She even knows it's a danger to herself, and to Emma. She knows all this. Elsa is a practical person, after all.

But it's all she has. So there must be _some_ way she can put it to use here.

"Well, be that as it may," she says, voice becoming reflexively clipped and short, "I still want to make a deal with you. So are you going to listen to my offer or not?"

Emma's fingers tap restlessly against Elsa's hips for a moment as she seems to struggle with herself. Then--

"No," she says finally.

Elsa jerks her head back slightly in surprise. "What do you mean _no?"_ she demands.

Emma rolls her eyes, looking more uncomfortable than anything else. "Come on, Els, you know how this goes," she says. "When's the last time you ever heard of a deal with the Dark One ending well for anyone _other_ than the Dark One?"

"There's a first time for everything," Elsa points out, trying very hard to keep her tone intentionally light. "Plus I know you're more interested in keeping me around than letting anything bad happen to me. I mean you did save me after all."

"Doesn't mean I won't make things miserable for you if you come up short on...whatever this mysterious deal of yours is."

"So then you _do_ want to know what it is."

Emma huffs, laughing quietly. "God, you are just causing me...so many problems right now," she says.

Elsa smiles at the very Emma-like complaint. "Are any of those problems crises of conscience? Or maybe even flashes of morality?" she teases gently.

"No. They're not," Emma laughs, with another warning edge to her tone. "Just the opposite, actually, which is exactly _why_ I don't want to make any kind of deal with you. You're just going to end up hurt, and I'm not sure you realize just how tempting it _is_ to hurt you. Especially when you keep practically begging for it."

Elsa doesn't know when it became okay with her for a threat to sound so sexy, or for something so sexy to sound like a threat, but she has to bite down hard on her lip as a shiver runs up her spine. Part of her is a little confused too, that Emma would go to seemingly great lengths to heal her and keep her safe, only to now profess a desire to hurt her even more. Just when she thinks she's found a way to put herself on even footing with Emma, the older woman twists on her and gains the upper ground again.

And she's still _smirking_ , thumbs tracing absently at Elsa's thighs.

"Why are you so hell-bent on trying to get rid of the Dark One anyway?" she asks, tilting her head. "I mean, you seem to like me pretty well..." she teases her fingers up to stroke between Elsa's legs, making her squirm. "...all things considered."

"I..."

"And I think we both know that without the Dark One's influence, Emma would still be holding you at arm's length and treating you like a little china doll. Did you ever stop to think that the only reason you're even able to have all of me like this is _because_ I'm the Dark One? Because I'm no longer afraid to take exactly what I want, exactly when and how I want it? Emma would never do that all on her own. I'm pretty surprised you'd want to get rid of the thing that actually allows you to have her."

That hurts, for some reason, more than it should, and Elsa cringes inwardly. Frowning, she reaches down to take hold of Emma's hands, moving them away from herself and pinning them back against the couch. Emma allows it with a small laugh-- they both know Elsa isn't even remotely strong enough to keep her there if Emma doesn't want it. But Elsa just needs to not be teased or touched right now. Not when she's actually trying to say something important.

"I want to get rid of the Dark One because Regina said that Emma-- that _you_ \-- fought against it in the beginning," Elsa tells her. Emma tilts her head, smile slipping just a fraction.

"If I honestly thought you were happy the way you are now...I don't know, maybe I'd let you be," Elsa goes on quietly. "But the fact that you fought against it initially-- for _months_ , Regina said-- that means something. If you fought against it for that long, you don't actually want it, it just wore you down. Something's in you that doesn't belong there. I know that at this point you think it's made you stronger, and made you more free, but...I think you're just even more trapped than you've ever been before. I think it's tricked you into believing you're freer than you actually are."

Emma sets her jaw thoughtfully, mulling that over. Then she twitches a small smile. "Guess we'll just have to agree to disagree on that front, Els," she says good-naturedly. "Though...misplaced as it is...I do appreciate the concern."

"Then let me make a deal with you," Elsa pleads. "Let me try...just...just hear me out even, and _then_ decide..."

"Oh I don't need to hear you out, Els," Emma chuckles. "I can already guess what you're going to say-- you're going to try to draw a line between Emma and the Dark One. You're going to offer a trade-- you're going to say you want me to stop using magic around others, make amends with the family, take my job back as the sheriff...you're going to ask me to act just like Emma Swan before all this. Just _act._ Because you know I can't just _change_ on a dime, but you're going to ask me to _act._ Recreate my life as Emma Swan with everyone in Storybrooke. And in exchange, you'll offer yourself up as a counterbalance so that I take out every impulse I have as the Dark One on you. You're going to try to separate Emma Swan from the Dark One by forcing me to be Emma and only Emma around them, and the Dark One and only the Dark One around you. You're going to be a little lightning rod and try to absorb every dark impulse I have so that Emma and the Dark One can exist separately and Emma can have her old life back." She quirks an eyebrow. "That about right?"

Elsa stares at her for a long time, mouth dry. "It could work," she says quietly, voice cracking a little from the shock of Emma seeing right through her. She doesn't remember Emma being so...perceptive before.

Emma smiles. "It's not a bad idea," she admits with a little shrug. "The problem with it though, is that there's no way you'd be able to survive every impulse the Dark One has. And I...well it's like you said-- I kind of like having you around." She offers a cheeky little smirk. "I know you're all in for sacrificing yourself to _save_ me and all, but...I really have no interest in you being sacrificed. I uhm..." she bites her lower lip in a completely self-aware way that somehow manages to be the most seductive thing Elsa has ever seen. "...I like you. _Both_ of us like you-- Emma Swan, and the Dark One. Whatever imaginary line you want to draw between us, we're both pretty happy to have you around. It'd be a shame to see you suffer horrifically just to get your ideal of the former Emma Swan her mommy and daddy back."

She very noticeably doesn't mention Henry, which Elsa finds to be somewhat telling given that Emma was just playing his video game device a few moments before.

"Emma please just let me _try_ ," Elsa begs frantically.

"You wouldn't last a week," Emma tells her firmly. Darkness flickers over her face, in that way it so often does nowadays. "What do you think the Dark One's impulses are, Elsa? No one person could survive what the Dark One would do to them. No matter how sweet they are."

Emma gives her a pointed look and Elsa wilts a little, because she had truly hoped...well. It all seems foolish now that Emma has pointed out the...well the fatal flaws in her plan.

"I'm not going to make that deal with you, I like you too much," Emma tells her again, looking thoughtful. _"But_...I also know you're not going to give up that easily, and I can sort of see the potential for some fun in all this."

Elsa looks at her warily. _Fun_ to Emma is always cause for caution these days. Much too often it comes with a side of destruction.

"What if, instead of a deal," Emma suggests, "we play a game? Winner gets their way."

Elsa's wariness spikes into trepidation. "A game?" she echoes nervously. And what does Emma mean by _her way?_

Emma grins and she shifts under Elsa in a self-satisfied sort of way. "You keep saying you want me to choose to be Emma, and to choose _you,"_ she says. "Well maybe I want _you_ to choose the Dark One."

Elsa frowns. "I don't underst--"

"We can call it an experiment," Emma interrupts, cocking her head playfully. "For...let's say for a month-- you do every single thing I tell you to do, and I do every single thing _you_ tell _me_ to do. No matter what it is. And either you're right, and your ideal Emma Swan will resurface and try to fight the good fight and be a good guy again, or _I'm_ right, and you'll learn that this thing you keep calling _darkness_ really _is_ freedom, and you're better off giving into it. If you're right-- if you win-- I'll hand over that dagger to you, and will remain well-behaved and Savior-like for as long it's yours. But if _I'm_ right, if I win-- then you give up on this really annoying crusade of yours, and you stay here. You stay mine. And you obey everything I ask of you, for as long as I ask it."

Her eyes are glinting, and she looks excited, really _pleased_ with her idea. Almost childishly happy.

"Think of it as a uhm...a modification...to your deal," she adds. "This way we both get to play. _And_ you'll actually survive it, which is a nice plus. Seriously, Elsa, if we tried to do things your way, you'd end up killed."

Elsa stares at her. All this, and Emma wants to treat it as a _game?_ Elsa is doing everything in her power to try to save her from this... _thing_...inside her, and Emma just wants to _play?_

Though in a way, she supposes, it does make sense. The last time she was here, Emma did show a particularly playful side around her, one that she didn't seem to have around other people. And like Regina said, the darkness in her now hasn't _created_ evil that isn't there, it's just exploited what already exists in Emma. Elsa supposes she just brings out Emma's playfulness, both normally and...more dangerously.

Maybe that could work in her favor somehow.

Although she can't help but think things have just gotten exponentially more difficult now that Emma will be actively working against her, actively trying to...change her. Suddenly she understands Emma's resentment toward the idea of being _changed_. It doesn't sit right, and for a fleeting moment, Elsa wonders if this is really all worth it.

Then she sighs, because of course it is. Anything for the chance to be with Emma for even just one second more is worth it. Even at the risk of losing herself.

"Alright," she agrees carefully, and Emma's face splits into a triumphant grin. Like she's already won.

"But I..." Elsa hurries on, "...and don't get angry...but I have to see Regina first."

Emma's eyebrows raise and her face goes suddenly hard and still. "...You're joking, right?" she asks incredulously.

"No, I...last time I spoke to her, I...I told her that I'd...well that I'd find a way to... _save you_...and she gave me a week to do it."

Emma looks like she isn't sure whether to laugh at that or not.

"She said if I wasn't able to in a week, then she'd have to take things into her own hands," Elsa goes on.

Emma frowns. "That sounds an awful lot like a threat," she muses, lifting an eyebrow.

"Just let me talk to her," Elsa says. "Let me explain the agreement you and I have come to. I think she'll be willing to listen, and hold off. The last thing she wants to do is fight you, and, Emma I'm pretty sure that's the last thing _you_ want too, that's why you haven't driven her out of town yet."

Emma stiffens dangerously. "Careful, Elsa," she warns quietly. "You're walking on _very_ thin ice, trying to be friendly with both Regina _and_ me."

"Good thing ice and I get along so well then," Elsa says, a very pale attempt at a joke. Emma's mouth twitches a _little_ in acknowledgment of the joke, but she still looks unhappy. Angry, even.

"I'm just trying to keep this from becoming some sort of war," Elsa tells her softly, fingers extending once again to stroke placatingly through golden tresses.

"I wouldn't mind a war so much," Emma says off-handedly, still pinning her with her stare. "It's not like I can lose, after all. Could be some fun while it lasted."

She narrows her eyes at Elsa, then cracks a smile at Elsa's tenseness.

"I'm just kidding, Els," she says, though Elsa doesn't quite believe her. There's a restlessness to Emma that makes her think the older woman would be willing to do just about anything just to keep herself feeling entertained.

Or distracted.

Emma shifts lazily under her again, obviously trying to regain her sense of strangely-controlled nonchalance, and tugs the hem of Elsa's dress back down, so that at least the more... _indecent_...parts of her are covered again.

"I won't stop you from going to see Regina," Emma tells her, a hint of roughness still present in an otherwise soft voice. "Not this time. Fair's fair, you do what you need to do in preparation. And anyway..."  A wolf grin spreads across her face, and her hands take shamelessly to wandering again, casual, but also expectant, like Elsa is just _hers_ to touch however she wants. "...while you're gone, that'll give me time to finalize the rules of our game. Draw something up for us both to sign."

She makes it sound so...binding.

Emma may be happily calling this a game, but Elsa can't help but feel that it's just as much of a _deal_ as anything Mr. Gold ever engaged in. And if anything, it's actually more dangerous, because Elsa still isn't absolutely certain she knows the stakes.

She has an odd and sudden recollection of herself playing "pin the tail on the donkey" at her sister's birthday party when she was six years old, blindfold on and dumbly reaching her hands out in the futile hope that she was even _remotely_ near her target, and finds the memory almost frighteningly similar to how she feels now.

But it _is_ progress, she thinks. Emma isn't shutting her out, she's engaging. In spite of everything, she still wants Elsa around, and her instinct is still one of playfulness.

It's just the kind of playfulness that might cost Elsa everything she thinks she knows about herself.

She slides off Emma's lap and stands slowly to her feet, self-consciously making sure the hem of her dress is fully covering her as she does. Emma watches, looking amused.

"I uhm," Elsa says a little awkwardly. "I won't be long. With Regina."

"Better not be," Emma says, but she no longer seems angry, smirk comfortably back in place. Elsa had half-expected the older woman to grab her and demand she be back by a certain time-- maybe run her hands possessively over her, or hiss heatedly in her ear-- but Emma's casual lounge back against the couch, the lazy way she drags her gaze over Elsa, and that faint, unthreatened smirk still playing at the corner of her mouth...it's strangely just as commanding as it would have been had Emma tied her up and ordered her to remain where she is.

Needless to say, Elsa hesitates, almost feeling like...well, now she doesn't really want to go see Regina after all. Maybe what she really wants is to start this game of Emma's right away, and do every little thing Emma asks of her.

She blinks, taking a small step back and subconsciously rubbing at her own arm as she snaps herself out of it. It's much too easy to get caught in Emma's gaze, in Emma's...everything.

"I'll...I'll be back soon," she mutters, turning and making her way towards the door.

"Take your time," Emma responds easily, and Elsa can actually _hear_ her smirk without seeing it. "I'll be waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY short chapter (for me), especially given how long it's been since I last updated...sorry's all around. All the usual excuses apply, including kind of a not-so pleasant personal life that's been pretty rough to deal with lately. Not to worry, I fully intend to finish this fic, no matter what, (and to infuse it with much more smut than it's had recently) but it's taking some time, because sometimes real life is a big poop. Just a very big poop indeed.
> 
> ON A MUCH MORE POSITIVE NOTE: One of my ever so wonderful and supportive and beautiful readers is trying to see if there's any interest in starting a frozenswan week over on tumblr. I'm not on tumblr, so I'm not totally sure how all this works, but if any of you have any interest in there being a frozenswan week (or she also mentioned a frozenswan community if an fs week didn't take off) you should really check that out and support her endeavors, because she's an awesome human, and also the world obviously needs more frozen swan, all the time, forever. Her tumblr is deepbluesomethings so go check her out and be friendly and...and...I don't know, whatever else happens on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks again, gorgeous people! See you next time (gonna try real hard to update more frequently, but then again, I think we've all heard THAT before...)


	6. 6

Regina is, predictably enough, not impressed with Elsa's new dress.

"Nice lingerie," she drawls as Elsa enters the vault. "Is this your new tactic for turning Emma good again-- dress up like a mannequin from Victoria's Secret until she drools the darkness out of herself?"

Elsa doesn't understand "mannequin" or "Victoria's Secret" or "lingerie" but she gets the gist of what Regina is driving at, and blushes in spite of herself. "There was an incident...I needed a new dress...I woke up in it..." she mumbles self-consciously, fingers curling nervously at the too-short hem of the dress.

To her surprise, Regina actually looks slightly apologetic at her rambling awkwardness.

"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to be quite so rude," she offers stiffly. "It's...been a rough day."

Elsa glances at her-- she truly does look like she has quite a bit on her mind, which Elsa can't help but think doesn't bode well for what she's about to tell the former Evil Queen.

"Where's Mr. Gold, is he here?" she asks, stalling.

"He's across the town line," Regina informs her curtly. "Checking in with his wife, and his grandson. Incidentally...my son."

That would explain Regina's mood. Elsa wonders how long it's been since she's gotten to be with Henry.

"I...I made a kind of break-through, with Emma, I think," she offers hesitantly, not sure whether it's best to get straight to the point, or offer some sort of sympathy first.

Regina blinks, expression guarded. "Is that right?" she asks with a skeptically lifted eyebrow. "That was quick."

"Well I mean...she's still...you know...but I think we've...well...we've sort of..."

"Elsa dear, it's obvious you have something you're reluctant to tell me...stammering through it isn't going to make it any easier for either of us."

Elsa sighs, and opens her mouth to just...get it over with...but is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching her at a run from behind.

She turns just in time to avoid being run over by a tall brunette wearing what Elsa remembers is called a "jogging" outfit. This new woman, seeming just as surprised to see her as Elsa is, pivots at the last minute, narrowly missing her, and nearly stumbling for a second before righting herself surprisingly gracefully and coming to a stop beside Regina.

"Whoa, hey, who's the babe?" she asks through short breaths, looking at Elsa curiously.

"That would be me, Miss Lucas," Regina says sternly. "Though if you're referring to the blonde waif in her undergarments, that's Elsa."

Elsa blinks in surprise as the new woman-- Miss Lucas-- shoots a guilty smile at Regina before stepping forward and extending her hand, grinning widely. "Elsa as in Ice Queen Elsa?" she asks, taking Elsa's hand and shaking it exuberantly. "Oh, wow-- yeah, I can tell-- cold hands. I'm Ruby, it's really nice to meet you!"

"Down, girl," Regina says blandly, though she doesn't actually seem _that_ annoyed. In fact, if she didn't know any better, Elsa would almost want to call Regina's tone vaguely teasing.

The woman in question-- Ruby-- just offers another good-natured grin and releases Elsa's hand, shifting back a few steps to stand by Regina. She looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment before asking, "So? Have we made any progress?"

"As a matter of fact," Regina says, gaze tight on Elsa, "the Ice Queen was just about to tell me of a miraculous _breakthrough_ she claims to have had in the two days it's been since last we spoke."

Ruby, either not picking up on Regina's tone, or choosing to ignore it, brightens and looks at Elsa expectantly.

Elsa hesitates, shyness stealing over her suddenly. Regina's preemptive doubt and skepticism, coupled by the fact that she now has a new, unexpected audience-- Elsa's never been particularly _good_ at meeting new people-- not to mention the fact that apparently the dress she's wearing is considered barely any more than an undergarment here...it all leaves her feeling like she's just been dropped into the middle of a bad dream, and it takes her a moment to find her voice.

"I...I've made a deal. With Emma," she tells them finally, nerves making her voice higher than she'd prefer.

In exactly the opposite of what she had expected, Ruby's face becomes stricken with some mixture of shock and horror, while Regina tilts her head minutely, looking suddenly curious. The rolling of the eyes, or disappointment, or even blatant ire that she had expected to see, doesn't happen; Regina's interest seems genuinely piqued.

Somewhat emboldened, Elsa carries on, voice a little stronger than before. "Well it's actually more of a _game_ than a _deal_ ," she says. "Still a deal in the grander sense, I mean, Emma's drawing up the agreement now. She's just formatted it as a game. If I win, she'll hand over the dagger to me, by her own choice, and she'll allow herself to be controlled, uncontested, as long as it's mine. No trickery, no trying to steal the dagger back, just...complete surrender."

There's a small silence.

"That's...not a terrible idea," Regina muses carefully while Ruby gives her a curious look. "The Dark One's deals are magically binding in addition to contractually...if you were actually able to win this game of yours, her power would be contained not only by her surrender of the dagger, but also by the obligation she has to you."

The former Evil Queen looks at her like she's suddenly seeing Elsa in an entirely new light. "Very clever, dear," she says, sounding honestly surprised.

"I...not really," Elsa admits, gut squirming a little. "It was mostly Emma's idea...making it a game, anyway...and the details..."

"You got her to engage," Regina interrupts. She looks thoughtful. "Obviously, entering into a deal with the Dark One isn't strictly the _best_ of ideas typically, but in this case...you say she made it a game. She's put _herself_ on the line here, not just you. She's offered up something that would actually matter to her. It's..."

She trails off, brow creasing thoughtfully.

"Regina?" Ruby prompts her, and Elsa is surprised to see the younger brunette brush the backs of her knuckles subtly against Regina's arm to get her attention. More surprising still is when Regina doesn't jerk away or reprimand her, but simply straightens, seeming to come back to herself.

"It's just interesting, is all," the former Evil Queen says, "the way she is with you. She's given herself something to lose. It's not something I would have expected."

She angles her head at Elsa, looking suddenly sharp again. "Dare I ask what happens if _you_ lose this game?" she asks.

Heat prickles at the back of her neck and Regina nods at the ensuing silence.

"And...dare I ask what the game itself actually _entails?"_

Another silence.

"I see," Regina says, and Elsa blushes even further because in all honestly, she's not sure _she_ sees. She can _guess_ some things of course, but...she also gets the feeling that this, along with everything else that's happened since she came back to Storybrooke, will be mostly unfamiliar territory to her.

"Well I wish you luck," Regina tells her after a moment. "And...I appreciate you keeping me apprised of all this."

"Well there's actually...one more thing," Elsa says. "I know in the beginning you gave me a week..."

"...But you require more time," Regina guesses. She doesn't look pleased with the idea, but she lowers her gaze and nods. "Fine. But this is the last chance I'm willing to give you, Elsa. Please don't make me regret it."

Elsa nods and turns to go, but is stopped by Ruby who calls out, "Hang on a sec-- I'll walk you back."

When Regina gives the younger brunette a surprised look, Ruby shrugs a shoulder up. "There were a couple creepy dudes lurking around the outskirts," she says. She looks at Elsa. "I'd just feel better knowing you weren't all on your own, especially at this hour."

Her concern comes as a surprise to Elsa, but Regina just nods again, fixing Ruby with a look. "You just make sure you watch out for yourself," she says sternly.

Ruby smiles at her. "I'll be fine," she assures her. "Everyone's still afraid of the big bad wolf. No one's going to mess with me."

There's an odd moment when Ruby looks like she's about to lean in to Regina, but then she seems to think better of it at the last minute and joins Elsa at the doorway.

"Shall we?" she asks.

*

Elsa finds that she's surprisingly grateful for Ruby's companionship on the walk back to town. The other woman has... _something_...something that reminds Elsa just slightly of her sister. Maybe it's just her energy, the way she doesn't just _walk_ , she spins around, looking at things, occasionally hopping towards something she finds interesting, or pointing, even trotting ahead occasionally and doubling back to Elsa's side like a loyal though admittedly ill-trained puppy. She finds an easy comfort in Ruby's presence, something bright amongst all this darkness.

"How is she?" Ruby asks her at length, after having just caught and then released a moth in her hands.

Elsa turns her head to find Ruby looking at her curiously.

"Emma, I mean," the brunette clarifies. "Is she...doing okay?"

"I'm not sure," Elsa answers honestly, suddenly struck by the fact that she truly doesn't know the answer to that question. "She acts like she's...good. Sometimes she even seems genuinely happy. But other times..." Elsa sighs. "She's hard to read."

Ruby nods, and falls silent, walking alongside her, suddenly seeming a little moody.

No, she's not quite like Anna after all, Elsa thinks. Same energy, same inquisitiveness...but there's something just ever so slightly haunted about her. Something darker.

"Were the two of you close, you and Emma?" Elsa asks after a time, partially just trying to make conversation, partially genuinely curious.

"Oh I loved Em," Ruby says without a moment's hesitation, warmth spreading across her features. "I don't know if I'd say we were _super_ close or anything-- I don't know that she's ever been _super_ close with _anyone_ \-- except maybe Henry-- but...yeah. Loved her. During the curse-- the first curse, I mean, the one Regina cast-- I don't know, I was really lost. But Emma showed up and she just, she just had this faith in me, that no one ever had before."

Elsa smiles, unable to help herself. "Yes, I know the feeling," she agrees.

"It was funny, coming from her," Ruby adds thoughtfully. "I mean, she could be so cynical sometimes, and hard-headed. But at the end of the day, she always really seemed like she so badly wanted to believe the best in people anyway. I think that's why I liked her so much. She wasn't stupid, or naive, or anything. But she did have this kind of... _hope_ thing going on. Without, you know, trying to _suffocate_ you with it."

Elsa laughs a little, thinking of Emma's mother.

"It's good you're here," Ruby tells her. "Regina really wants the best for Emma but...well you know Regina, she'll never say it. And Gold's all...himself. It's nice to see you here, being all...optimistic. Between Mr. Gold and Regina, it can get a little dour around these parts."

"So why have you stayed?" Elsa asks. "If you don't mind my asking."

A guilty-looking grin splits across Ruby's face. "Oh, well...I'm kind of a pack animal," she says vaguely. "Snow and Charming and Henry and Granny-- my granny, you know-- they're all safe across the town line, but I didn't really like the idea of Regina being back here on her own. I just like to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they're safe."

"Mr. Gold is with her most times, isn't he?"

"Well sure, but I've never quite trusted him," Ruby says shrugging. "He may not be the Dark One anymore, but he's still kind of a shady guy. He and Regina both decided to stay here to try to figure out some way to get Emma back under control since, you know, they both have kind of a dark side to them, and they both know a lot about magic. I just decided to stay on too, 'cause, well, I've got a bit of a dark side to me too, and also a little magic."

"You?" Elsa asks in surprise. It's hard to picture the cheerful brunette in the jogging outfit beside her with any kind of _actual_ dark side beyond that slightly haunted look she has.

Ruby flashes a grin at her. "Well, not so much anymore," she admits. "See I've got this...well I used to think it was a curse. Once a month I turn into a wolf and...kinda tear around a bit."

Elsa stops in her tracks and stares at her. "You...turn into a wolf," she repeats, just to make sure she heard correctly.

"That's right," Ruby affirms with a smile, before sobering quite  bit. "Before I learned to embrace it, I had no control over it. I hurt a lot of people-- not because I wanted to, but because I was so busy fighting myself and being confused, I was completely out of control. It took a long time but once I realized this thing-- this darkness-- was _part_ of me, I was able to make peace with it, with myself, and I learned to control it." She shrugs. "Now I love wolfstime. It's...freeing. It makes me feel whole."

Elsa chews on her lip, turning that over in her mind. "Emma talks about the darkness in her being freeing," she muses. "She says it feels like she's truly _herself_ now that she's the Dark One."

Ruby nods. "It's hard to know what to think, huh," she says with a careful smile. "I mean, darkness is part of all of us. Sometimes we control it, sometimes it controls us...but it _is_ part of us. Denying it doesn't make it go away. Neither does fighting it, or ignoring it...or even feeding it. It's just there." She fiddles with something at her wrist absently. "Regina and Mr. Gold have a pretty black-and-white view on darkness, just since, you know, it's cost them both so much in the past. I always think darkness is a little harder to identify though. It's tricky. Sometimes it really _is_ freedom."

"Which do you think it is for Emma?" Elsa asks quietly.

Ruby looks a little uncomfortable. "Honestly? I guess...I don't know, I'm a little on the fence," she says. "Don't tell Regina or Mr. Gold that. I mean I'd obviously never betray them, but I _do_ sometimes wonder...I mean, Emma's killed people, you know? But they weren't really great people to begin with. And she's created this dark little world for herself. But the world was already kinda dark anyway. Sometimes-- just to myself, you know-- I have to wonder a little bit...maybe Emma's just adapted to the way the world really is anyway. Maybe it's...smart. What she's done. What she is. Maybe it makes sense a little bit."

The brunette frowns. "But then I think about all the hurt she's caused to people who love her, and need her, and care for her...and I think..." She sighs. "I don't know, it's confusing. It's made me...reconsider a lot of things. I don't want her hurting the people I care about. And if it comes down to a choice between her or them, I have to stick by them, there's no question about that. But it is a little..." She shrugs. "I just mean that I get it. How it's more complicated. It's more complicated than _they_ all think, and it's more complicated than _she_ thinks. That's why I think it's good you're here. I think you've complicated things for her already and that might be what she needs." She shrugs again. "Or maybe what you need."

Elsa glances at her and Ruby offers another wide smile. "Or not and she's totally evil and that's all there is to it," she says. "What the hell do I know?"

*

Emma is busy writing something at the table as Elsa re-enters the loft. At least that's what it looks like at first, before Elsa realizes the older woman isn't _writing_ at all-- she's skimming her hand lightly over a piece of paper, and where her hand hovers, slanted writing appears, black as pitch.

Emma looks up as Elsa closes the door behind herself and offers an impish-looking smile.

"That was fast," she comments.

"It was less...confrontational...than I thought it was going to be," Elsa tells her.

Emma raises an eyebrow at that, but otherwise doesn't respond.

"I don't think Regina liked the dress you put me in very much," Elsa adds.

The imp-grin returns and Emma circles around the table until she's directly in front of Elsa, hands slipping up to her waist.

"Oh well if _Regina_ doesn't like it, guess we'd better get you out of it then, huh," she purrs, nosing at Elsa's earlobe before dipping her head and kissing down her neck. Her fingers start gathering at the material of the dress and Elsa's breath catches, trying her best not to lose herself to that feeling of intoxicating vertigo as Emma sucks lightly at her pulse point.

"Emma, just...wait..." she breathes.

Emma grumbles irritatedly against her skin, biting punishingly at her neck, but she pulls back to look at her, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I uhm...well...did you finish writing up our...our agreement?" Elsa asks, resisting the urge to bring her hand up to her neck to soothe the place Emma just bit so hard.

"An hour with Regina and suddenly you're all business," Emma mumbles with a slight roll of her eyes, but she reaches over and snags the piece of paper she'd been working on before off the table and hands it to Elsa. "Have a look."

Elsa takes it and starts to look it over, keenly aware of Emma's eyes trained on her, the hand that's still on her waist continuing to gather idly at the material of her dress.

"Every other day?" Elsa asks, her eye catching on one of the clauses outlined.

"Yeah," Emma says. "So, on the first day I do everything you say, the next day you do everything I say, and then the third day it's back to you, then back to me, and so on for four weeks beginning today. Each new day starts at midnight, at which point power shifts over to the other person. That way there's no question as far as who obeys who, or ways for either of us to weasel out of doing something the other tells us to do, or any chance of a stalemate occurring." She points a little further down the paragraph. "You'll notice I've given you the first day," she says. "Beginning as soon as we sign this."

"How thoughtful of you."

"Not really," Emma laughs. "It's already 11. By the time we get everything all signed, it'll be nearly midnight and your day will end."

"In other words, you've given me the shortest day to start with."

"It's perfectly legal," Emma defends mildly. "Though admittedly not very fair."

Elsa is starting to get the sinking feeling that _perfectly legal but not very fair_ will be Emma's tactic throughout the entire game. She casts her eyes back over the document.

"There's nothing detailing _what_ we can tell the other person to do," she notices. "Limits, or...boundaries, or anything."

"Of course not," Emma says, a smile in her voice. "Where would the fun in _that_ be?"

"But...that means you could just as easily tell me to...clean your apartment, as kill someone."

Emma laughs. "Well I hadn't actually considered telling you to kill someone," she says. " _Or_ clean my apartment. Believe it or not, I actually had more _enjoyable_ ideas I was planning on, y'know, since I'm trying to show you what you're missing out on by not giving into your darker side. But, theoretically, yeah. I could tell you to kill someone. While cleaning my apartment. If I ever had that particular urge."

"And if I refused?"

Emma points to the lowest paragraph on the page. "We're each allowed three refusals," she says. "If you go for a fourth refusal, it results in an automatic forfeit-- you lose, and as we discussed before, you belong to me, with no power to refuse anything I say ever again. Very literally. The magical bindings of the contract will physically strip you of your ability to deny anything I want."

"Or _you_ lose," Elsa counters. "And you'll have to surrender the dagger to me without the option of trying to steal it back. Once it's mine it's mine, you can't lay your hands on it, and you won't have any power over _me,_ or anyone else. _"_ Having said that, she quickly glances down at the document to make sure it's printed clearly that way, relieved to find it is.

Emma laughs lowly and leans in to nuzzle Elsa's neck. "I think we both know, dagger or no dagger, agreement or no agreement, I'll _always_ have power over you," she growls.

It's difficult to argue with Emma's warm breath on her neck and the hand that's making its way steadily down to her ass. Elsa forces herself to angle her head away, just enough to get the message across that Emma needs to stop; it makes the older woman chuckle, but she obeys good-naturedly, stilling her hand, but not letting Elsa go.

"Deciding who the victor is seems...vague," Elsa notes, looking once again at the agreement.

Emma groans a little. "God, I've never had someone look over an agreement of mine so _critically_ before," she complains. "I forgot under that sweet little innocent act you've got going on, you're actually a politician."

Elsa smiles in spite of herself. "Overseeing agreements is part of my job," she says. "What kind of queen would I be if it wasn't?"

"An easier one to manipulate," Emma grumbles, but she sounds more amused than anything else. "Though I think it'll be pretty obvious that you've won if I suddenly start dressing in skinny jeans and a red leather jacket while running around rescuing kittens from trees."

"And I suppose it'll be obvious that _you've_ won if I start dressing head to toe in black and inflicting casual violence upon passersby in the street," Elsa challenges. She shakes her head. "I don't like vague rules, Emma. I like to know exactly what to expect before I sign anything. I want a clear way of knowing which of us has won. I don't like gray area."

"This whole _situation_ you and I are in is _gray area,_ Els," Emma laughs. "That's the whole point."

"Emma."

She meets the older woman's gaze seriously.

"I'm agreeing to your 'no limits, no boundaries' idea because of the refusal clause, and because it's what I was willing to do initially anyway," she says, "but that's as vague as I'm willing to go. For everything else, I want it clearly stated. Particularly this part. What you've suggested is a game that uses impulses we already have inside us in order to permanently bring out a dormant side of the other. That's going to be...confusing enough as it is. I'm putting all I am on the line right now. I want to be certain that will be honored. So please." She hands the document back to Emma. "Clarify this for me."

For a second, something angry flashes across Emma's face and her entire body tightens. It's obvious the Dark One isn't pleased that she isn't immediately getting her way, isn't pleased she's being given orders. Elsa does her best to keep her face neutral as she holds her ground, refusing to let her gaze drop in spite of how much she wants to.

After a moment, Emma sets her jaw, forcing a smirk back onto her face. "You aren't suggesting the Dark One might be trying to _trick_ you, are you?" she teases.

"Are you?"

Emma's forced smirk lifts into an actual grin. "Maybe a little. You really like to make things difficult for me, don't you," she says.

"No more difficult than you do for me," Elsa counters daringly-- or at least it would have been daringly if not for the way her voice squeaked just ever so slightly.

"Well you do make things more fun, at any rate," Emma huffs. "Fine. I guess...you could be right. We'll need a judge of some kind-- an impartial one to decide which of us has successfully managed to sway the other over that... _moral line_." So saying, she drags her fingernail absently in a straight line down the side of Elsa's throat.

Elsa swallows.

"An impartial judge," she echoes, forcing herself to focus. "Like who?"

"Not _who,"_ Emma says. She reaches down and slides the Dark One's dagger out from a sheath at her boot, dangling it a little mockingly in front of Elsa.

Elsa stares at it for a moment before fixing Emma with an incredulous look. "You said an _impartial_ judge," she says. "That thing... _is_ darkness, it..."

"Exactly," Emma says. She lays the dagger flat in the palm of her hand, and murmurs something over it. It begins to spin of its own accord, almost like the needle of a compass, before finally coming to a stop, pointing level at Emma.

"It recognizes darkness," she says. She hesitates for a moment, and then hands it a little warily to Elsa. "You try."

Elsa takes it gingerly, laying it flat in the palm of her hand just as Emma had. Emma murmurs the same thing she did before over it, and it begins to spin once again. After a moment, it comes to rest, but swings clear of Elsa, drifting slowly on its axis, listlessly, like it's in search for darkness to latch onto.

"You're about as light as Emma Swan was," Emma says. "And I'm about as dark as you _could_ be. At the end of our game, this will be be our judge. Maybe it'll drift right away from me, or maybe it'll start pointing straight at you. We'll see where we stand once we get there. And I guess...whoever's swayed the most...loses. Sound fair?"

Elsa looks down at the listlessly drifting dagger in her hand, unnerved by the idea of it pointing directly at her, or even close to her, wondering what would have to happen to make it point that way. But it does seem like their best bet at something that will be reliable.

She closes her other hand over the hilt and hands it back to Emma with a barely-contained shiver.

"Alright," she agrees. "Put that down in the agreement."

Emma gives her an amused look, but raises her hand over the document anyway, and Elsa watches as the words detailing their decision appear on the page. The older woman hands the paper back to Elsa, one hand skimming up to twist a stray strand of Elsa's hair around her finger. 

"There," she says. "Is everything else to your satisfaction, _your majesty?"_ she asks.

Elsa bites her lip against the tingle Emma's fingers elicit against the nape of her neck and goes over the page again, and then once more. It _isn't_ to her satisfaction at all, honestly-- just knowing that it was written up by the Dark One, she knows it has to be filled with all manner of loopholes and deceptions. But if they are there, she can't see them-- this is as close to a straight-forward set of rules as she can imagine in this particular situation, and she looks back up at Emma, nodding.

"What now?" she asks.

Emma grins, taking the page back from her and laying it flat on the table. "Now, we sign," she says.

Before Elsa can fully register what she's doing, Emma has raised the dagger to her own hand, and slices it quickly across the palm.

"Emma!" Elsa cries in alarm as a thin line of blood beads to the surface of Emma's palm. "What are you _doing?"_

"Well I'm all out of pens," Emma tells her with just the hint of a smile. "And anyway, blood always adds that extra little kick to a magically-binding contract."

Elsa watches, horror-struck, as Emma curls her hand into fist over the document, squeezing several droplets of blood onto the paper. The droplets converge slowly, lengthening and shaping themselves until they form the words _Emma Swan_ and sink into the page so that it now bears the Dark One's signature in deep crimson.

Emma stretches her fingers casually and the slice in her palm knits itself together in an instant, disappearing as if it was never there.

"See? No harm done," she says with a grin, holding it up for Elsa to see. Then she holds her hand out expectantly. "Now you."

Elsa's eyes shoot up to hers fearfully. "W-what?" she stammers.

"Give me your hand," Emma urges. She grins at Elsa's hesitance. "I'll be gentle. Promise."

Tremulously, Elsa places her hand in Emma's, eyes never leaving her face. Emma gives a barely-audible hum of approval and looks down, brushing her thumb in a small circle across Elsa's palm. Then she lifts the dagger and presses it into the pad of Elsa's index finger.

Elsa's breath catches as Emma slides the edge of the blade back carefully, making a very small cut at the tip of her finger, just enough to coax out a small dribble of blood.

Flashing a quick smirk at her, Emma guides her hand over the page, squeezing the tip of her finger so that a few droplets fall onto it. Just as Emma's did, the droplets quiver and arrange themselves, stretching themselves out until _Her Royal Highness, Queen Elsa of Arendelle_ sinks into the page, just under Emma's signature.

"Quite the title," Emma remarks with a smirk. She lifts Elsa's hand, looking at the small cut on her finger, and then brings it to her lips.

Elsa watches, transfixed, as Emma's lips close over her finger, drawing the digit slowly into the wet heat of her mouth, eyes dark and hooded. She whimpers involuntarily as Emma slides it back out, glistening, and free of any evidence that the cut had ever existed.

"All better," Emma whispers.

Elsa can't speak. She's not even completely sure that she's breathing. Without bothering to consider why, or even what she's doing, she sways forward with small whine and brushes her lips against Emma's. The absolute _need_ to be kissing the older woman right now is overwhelming and she presses into her pleadingly, wanting nothing more than to melt into the soft heat of Emma's mouth.

Emma chuckles against her lips and pushes her back against the table, one hand reaching up and twisting in Elsa's hair, yanking her head back just far enough so that their lips aren't touching.

"Please, Emma," Elsa begs, straining against Emma's hold, desperate for Emma's mouth on hers.

"Please what, Els?" Emma asks, remaining just out of reach. "Gotta be more specific if you want that contract to kick in."

"Please just keep..." She flushes at having to say the words out loud. "...Keep kissing me...keep...keep touching me...and...Emma...please...fuck me..."

"That's all?" Emma teases, leaning in obediently to kiss her, hand running up her thigh. "The game's started, the day's yours at least for another few minutes, and rather than employing your brilliant strategy to get Emma Swan back, you just want me to fuck you?" She kisses her again, tongue flicking devilishly at Elsa's lips, but pulling away before Elsa can open up for her. 

"I gotta say, _your royal highness, Queen Elsa of Arendelle,"_ Emma goes on with a smirk, "for someone who claims to be so determined to bring out my good girl side, you're not off to a very a strong start." She sucks Elsa's bottom lip between her teeth and tugs lightly, causing Elsa to have to grip the edge of the table for support.

"Makes me wonder if your heart's really in this after all," Emma teases against her lips. "Maybe you should just forfeit now, save us both some time."

Elsa moans and pulls Emma back in against her mouth to silence her. 

She's right, a small voice in her mind says. This is all time Elsa could be using to sway Emma Swan back, time she's _wasting_ right now.

But it's not _much_ time, another part of her argues. The day is almost up, it's not as if she'd be able to make any kind of real progress in the short time she has until midnight anyway. Just this one time--she can be weak just this one time and simply _enjoy_ Emma with no ulterior motive, no obligation. For the next month, all she'll be doing is forcing herself to be strong, forcing herself to fight her own darkness as well as Emma's.

So for the next few moments...the last few moment of this day...if she can just be weak, just this one last time...

She gasps as Emma's hand slides up between her legs, fingers beginning to play against her sex.

God, yes, it's alright to be weak, she thinks again feverishly, parting her legs and bracing herself back against the table. It's fine, just this last time, she can be as weak as she wants to be. Emma is fucking her and sucking on her breast through the material of her dress, and it's just fine to be weak.

Her fingers twist in Emma's hair, trying to pull her impossibly closer, inner walls beginning to clench as Emma pushes her closer and closer toward the edge. She whimpers pleadingly, needing just a _little_ _more,_ barely aware of the sounds of the clock tower chiming in the distance.

And then all of a sudden, Emma stops, straightening up.

Elsa chokes out an involuntary cry at being driven _so close_ only to have Emma stop so abruptly like that. It's almost _painful_ being denied so suddenly and she nearly loses her balance.

"Emma--" she cries, mindlessly grabbing Emma's hand and trying to press it back against where she needs it so badly.

Emma easily twists out of her hold and clamps her hands over Elsa's wrists to keep her still.

"Day's up, Els," she says, smirking at Elsa's bewildered expression. "And I've got a lot planned for you. Don't want to waste any time. You understand."

"But...I..." 

Elsa gapes at her, suddenly humiliatingly aware of what a mess she must look right now, sweat causing the dress to cling damply to her skin, chest heaving as she struggles to get her breathing under control, inner thighs coated thickly with her arousal. Not a strong start to their game at all.

"Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up," Emma orders quietly, a smile still playing at her lips. "Meet me back upstairs when you're done. And no finishing yourself off," she adds sternly. She chucks Elsa lightly under the chin. "That'd be a very big mistake."

Elsa stares at her a moment longer, feeling shaky from how much she had needed to come, from how shocking it was to be wrenched out of that state before she could.

But finally she nods obediently and pushes herself off from the table, beginning to make her way somewhat clumsily to the bathroom.

"Oh, and Els," Emma calls to her. "Might want to consider upping your strategy a bit next time around. You're basically doing my job for me at this point."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to make a quick note about what's going to be coming up here-- as you've probably figured out, there's definitely going to start being some more bdsm-type aspects to their relationship in the upcoming chapters. Not always, but a lot of the time (lookin' at you, Emma Swan). Having said that, this is in no way supposed to be reflective of an actual bdsm relationship, (just, y'know, in case the whole "magic and darkness and darkness and magic and magic magic magic" thing didn't tip you off)-- the rules here are supposed to be somewhat vague because of the nature of what they're dealing with. The bdsm part is secondary to the fact that they're each trying to bring out each other's "goodness" or "darkness" respectively, rather than being the main focus. But yes, secondary or no, there will be many bdsm-esque themes coming up, so I'll make sure to put warnings at the tops of those chapters for you guys.
> 
> THANK YOU AS ALWAYS, YOU BRILLIANT AND PERFECT SPECIMENS OF THE HUMAN RACE. Catch you next time...


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it’s been over 3 weeks since I updated? That’s…you’re crazy. Shhhh. That didn’t happen.   
> Uhm...here's an olive branch update.  
> Also WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Knife play

Emma is buckling up her jacket when Elsa rejoins her upstairs, encasing herself once again in unforgiving stiff black leather.

"Are you going somewhere?" Elsa asks, somewhat jokingly because she isn't sure what kind of obligation Emma would have in the middle of the night.

_"We_ are, actually," Emma corrects with a smile. She cocks her head and saunters over to Elsa, tugging lightly at her dress to straighten it. Her hand lingers for a moment at Elsa's waist as she looks her over appraisingly. "You really are beautiful, aren't you," she murmurs.

The comment is so off-hand and unexpected that Elsa's lips part in surprise and heat rises in her cheeks. She fidgets awkwardly, not sure how to respond, if she should be saying _thank you_ , or _so are you_ , or _why are you suddenly being nice to me?_

She settles on a barely audible “Mm," and Emma smirks, offering her hand.

Elsa takes it warily, surprised, as she always is anytime she touches someone, at how warm it is.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"I have a present for you," Emma answers vaguely, and before Elsa can question any further, black magic swirls around them and the loft disappears from sight.

*

When the smokey swirl of magic clears, Elsa realizes she and Emma are in the back lot behind Granny's-- or at least the bar that used to be Granny's.

Elsa stiffens immediately, unpleasant memories from the last time they were here washing over her-- that man and his friends attacking her, the terror of that moment, the wave of glass, the way he screamed, the way _she_ screamed...

She cuts herself off quickly, not wanting to fall back into the panic she'd felt then. Living it once was enough. Being back here...part of her feels sick.

"Emma what are we doing here?" she demands softly. She's clinging hard to Emma's hand, she realizes, but she can't quite convince herself to let go.

Emma laughs at how hard her hand is being held. "You seem a little tense there," she observes.

"Emma I'm serious, what are we doing here?"

"You're not afraid, are you?" Emma asks.

"Please, Emma, I don't like it here..."

"'Cause I don't want you to be afraid, Els," Emma goes on, ignoring her. "You shouldn't have to be afraid of anything. You used to like it when I brought you here before, didn't you?"

"I...yes, before, but—“

"You and I had some fun times at Granny's," Emma cuts through her, smiling almost fondly. "I bought you your first chocolate milk shake here-- your whole face lit up, you were so excited. Remember that?"

"I do, but..."

"And you thought you'd be cute and kept freezing my hot cocoa every time I tried to take a sip of it," Emma goes on. "So I had to grab your hands to stop you each time. _Very_ subtle, Els." She winks. "For someone so shy, you were quite the little flirt. Any excuse you had to touch me, you definitely didn't hesitate.

"But now," she says, brow suddenly creasing as if she's puzzled, "now you don't seem quite so eager to go to Granny's. Why is that, I wonder?"

"You know why," Elsa murmurs, frowning. "Emma please, I don't like what happened, I don't want to be here..."

"The man who attacked you is dead," Emma reminds her. "I killed him, he can't hurt you anymore. No need to be afraid." She looks thoughtful. "Although...he did have friends, didn't he?"

Elsa doesn't like where this is going.

"The three of them took this place from you, didn't they Els?" Emma says. "The memory of what happened that night, it's destroyed this place for you, hasn't it."

Elsa hesitates, knowing she's being led on. "It doesn't matter, it's not important," she says, even though she doesn't quite believe it.

"It _is_ important," Emma argues, "your hand's shaking." She nods towards Granny's. "That man's friends are in there right now," she tells Elsa. "This place is still theirs. They've taken something from you, Els, they've taken something that, just the memory of it, used to make you happy. And now it's something that scares you. And that's no good, I don't want that for you. So let's say I help you take it back."

Elsa bites her lip uncertainly.  “What do you mean, 'take it back?'"

"I mean there's still two men in there who are drinking merrily away, in a place that's important to _you_ , even after what they tried to do to you."

"I doubt they're drinking all _that_ merrily given that you just murdered their friend," Elsa says stiffly before she can stop herself.

Annoyance flashes for a second behind Emma's eyes and Elsa thinks she's about to get angry. But then she shrugs carelessly, ire vanishing as quickly as it came. 

"You're right," she says affably. "It's probably best if we just allow them to drink their grief away in peace."

She clicks her tongue suddenly, as if just thinking of something. "You know though," she points out, "the problem with people like them, _particularly_ when they've got enough alcohol in their system to get extra stupid, is that it's really only a matter of time before they go right back to what they do best-- namely, going after some other innocent like you. Chances are, I won't be around to save the next victim, and you don't seem all that interested in preventing anything like that from happening, so...Well. I guess you're right. It's probably none of our business. So they ruined this place for you, and they may succeed in ruining the _life_ of someone else...I've got plenty of other things to do with you instead, this is probably just a waste of time."

Elsa feels her jaw clench anxiously and her eyes dart nervously over to the diner. It doesn't go unnoticed by Emma, who raises a hand to cup her cheek soothingly.

"I won't ask you to hurt them, Els," the older woman tells her, her calming tone still tinged with something a little threatening, like a storm about break loose. "Not this time, I know you're not ready for that. But _I'm_ still very upset that they tried to hurt someone that belongs to me, and I'd like you to come inside with me while I punish them, so that you can see what you _could_ be. So you can see what it looks like to never have to be afraid."

She already knows what that looks like. It looks like a wave of glass and a man so fearful veins are popping around his head, and Elsa just sitting there, _willing_ it to happen.

She feels paralyzed again— not just because she's afraid of what Emma plans to do, but because part of her can't help but wonder if maybe she could be right. If no one does anything, what's to stop those men from going after another woman, or just attacking someone in general? Surely _this_ can't be wrong, not if it prevents other people from getting hurt...?

But then why would Emma be having her be part of this? She has to be up to something-- Emma wouldn't have her do something _noble_ right now...would she? That doesn't seem to make sense.

"You're not going to kill them, are you?" Elsa asks carefully.

Emma sighs irritatedly through her nose. "You're asking an _awful_ lot of questions for someone who's supposed to be obeying everything I ask," she says warningly. "You know I _could_ just order you to march right in there and shove icicles through every sacred hole in their bodies. Instead, I'm _offering_ you a learning opportunity. Either way, you _will_ be joining me in there, I was just hoping you might choose to go willingly, because I thought you'd be smart enough to understand why it needs to happen. I don't tolerate people who try to steal, use, or damage things that are important to me, and neither should you. You shouldn't allow others to have power over you, Elsa."

"Unless they're you, is that it?" Elsa challenges.

Emma smiles and shrugs. _"You're_ the one who wanted to make a deal with me," she points out. "In that vein, I'd say you gave your power over to me pretty willingly. I might even go so far as to accuse you of _liking_ that I have power over you, at least some of the time. But this is different. Those men have hurt you, without your permission, they don't deserve to have power, they deserve to be reduced to nothing. They deserve to be made as helpless as they tried to make you feel. Don't lie to me and say that that doesn't appeal to you."

It _does_ appeal to her, that's the scary part.

"It..." Elsa looks down. "It's just to keep them from hurting anyone else, right?"

Emma gives her a _look_ , not a very nice one. "Your reasons are yours," she says carelessly. "Me, I'm punishing them because they deserve it, and because I want to, and because I think it might be funny. But if it helps you sleep better knowing that it means they won't be able to hurt anyone else, then...sure."

"...But you're not going to _kill_ them," Elsa questions again.

"Nah," Emma says, shrugging one shoulder up. "That'd be a bit much for you this early on, I think. We'll start you out nice and slow for now, work our way up."

She winks and starts pulling Elsa along with her toward the diner. "Come on," she urges, voice oddly sing-song-like and giddy. "Think you'll be surprised how much you're going to like this."

*

Apparently there isn't a single soul in town who isn't aware that Emma Swan is the Dark One, this becoming clear the second Emma throws the door open and everyone in the diner freezes and falls silent almost immediately, all eyes flying to her.

Emma steps to the side, leaving the door wide open.

“Everyone out,” she orders softly.

No one needs to be told twice. There is a loud scraping of chairs and a clumsy mass exodus as everyone tries not to be the last one out.

Two men in particular seem eager to get out amidst the throng of exiting people, trying to edge toward the door from the far side of the diner. Elsa recognizes them as the friends of the man who attacked her and she shies away without meaning to, pressing subconsciously into Emma’s side.

Emma allows the contact, but she leans in and murmurs, “Stop them,” lowly into Elsa’s ear.

Elsa turns her head to look at her, frowning. “What do you—?”

“If they leave the diner, I’ll have you go and retrieve them all by yourself,” Emma tells her. “So I’d stop them now if I were you.”

“But…I might hurt someone,” Elsa protests, the thought of using her powers in this mess of people making her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“You’re honestly still afraid of your own powers? Even after all this time?” Emma asks, looking strangely…disappointed. She raises an irritated eyebrow. “Better hurry, Elsa, if I have to tell you to stop them again, I’ll count it as a refusal. Don’t want to start racking those up on just the first day.”

Elsa blanches, and turns back to look at the men. They’ve nearly made it to the door, casting furtive glances at her and Emma, obviously eager to be as far away from the Dark One who killed their friend as humanly possible.

It…isn’t what she had expected. There’s something…something in her that… _snaps_ at the sight of those furtive looks. If they had been aggressive, if they had been confrontational, if they had been on the look out for a fight, that would be one thing. But the idea that they have the audacity to be _afraid_ right now. After what they did. 

Cowards.

The thought seems to focus the anger she didn’t know she had into a sharp point and almost without thinking, she extends her hand and a thin sheet of ice streaks across the floor, zig-zagging sharply to avoid the last few stragglers of the crowd, and reaching its mark in the two men, climbing up their legs to mid-thigh, encasing them in a hard, icy mold.

This burst of unexpected power is enough to spur the last few people out as quickly as possible. Suddenly Elsa, Emma, and the two men are the only ones left, leaving the diner suddenly and eerily silent aside from the two men trying to pry their legs out of their icy encasement.

Elsa jumps slightly as Emma’s hand goes skimming lightly down her back.

“Very good girl,” the older woman murmurs. Elsa can’t see it, because Emma’s mouth is pressed against her ear, but she’s pretty sure Emma is smiling. Like she’s impressed. Elsa can’t help the warm feeling that blooms in her chest at the idea that Emma is proud of her.

She feels a sudden emptiness as Emma steps away from her and towards the two men, absently gesturing at the still-open door, causing it to slam shut ominously. The sound of it snaps both men to attention and they watch Emma’s approach fearfully.

Neither one speaks as Emma comes to a stop directly in front of them, eyes surveying them coldly. They seem to know full well that words would be useless at the moment. One of them looks shaky, while the other seems to be going for some sort of defiant look that’s undermined by the way his breath is coming fast with fear.

Then, without turning around, Emma calls, “Elsa, come here for a second.”

Elsa tenses at the unexpected demand, hesitating. This is as close as she wants to be to these men, she has no desire to get any nearer.

Her hesitation must have lasted too long because Emma turns her head, and arches an eyebrow at her, a clear command that she’s expected to follow. So Elsa lifts her head as proudly as she can manage and strides forward, humiliatingly aware of the awkward jerk to her step as she crosses the diner. Why is it always _fear_ that’s so difficult for her to hide?

She comes to a stop at Emma’s side, both surprised and relieved when the older woman slides a comforting hand around her waist.

“Boys,” Emma says, addressing the two men pleasantly. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me out with something.”

One of the men looks at his friend uncertainly; his counterpart doesn’t seem to dare to take his eyes off Emma.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Emma affords them. “See, my friend and I—“ she gives Elsa a small squeeze about the waist, “—were talking: she thinks you two look familiar for some reason. She’s being shy now, but she was hoping you might be able to jog our memories— why is it that we know you again?”

The more obviously terrified of the two seems to stupidly think he’s lucked upon an opportunity and blurts out, “Never met either of you before!” in a voice much too loud, much too shaky. His friend seems to think so too, setting his jaw in resignation.

“What I mean is you must be mistaken,” the other babbles on. “Think we’d remember having met someone like the two of you— can’t place you though— must have made a mistake—“

Emma rolls her eyes and in an instant, the man ceases his babbling and begins making a horribly gurgled hacking, coughing sound.

“You know, it’s kinda funny,” Emma says conversationally over the noise, “no matter what world I’m in, or what time, or what age, or what state of mind, or whatever level of Dark or Light or otherwise…I just really, _really_ hate being lied to.”

Elsa stares at the man, realizing with faint horror that he’s choking on his own tongue which seems to have engorged and begun trying to make its way down his throat.

“Emma…” Elsa protests softly.

The older woman ignores her for several seconds, and then finally releases whatever magic she’d used on him. He doubles over as far as the ice around his legs will let him, gasping and wheezing for air.

“Let’s try this again,” Emma says. “Do you or do you not know this woman next to me?”

This time it’s the smarter of the two who answers, silently, with a careful nod.

“There. That wasn’t so hard,” Emma says approvingly. “Now, why don’t you elaborate for us. _How_ , specifically, do you know this woman?”

The second man is wary, mind obviously racing as he tries to find the words to say this in a way that is both truthful, but less damning than it actually was.

“We met her here,” he says slowly. “With a friend of ours…she caught his eye.”

“She caught his eye,” Emma echoes, eyebrows raising. “What an adorable way of phrasing an attempted rape.”

A shiver goes up Elsa’s spine hearing the word said so clearly. That’s what it had been. Elsa has been trying to blot that idea out, calling it an _attack_ , using vague, round-about expressions to reason out what happened. Hearing it now, the actual word, what it really was— what it really _would_ have been had it continued— she suddenly feels sick again, and strangely humiliated.

She tenses as something in the air becomes thicker. It takes her a moment, but she thinks she’s actually _feeling_ Emma’s magic gathering, the way it’s reacting to her anger.

“Elsa,” the older woman says, now addressing her softly. Almost gently. “Outside I told you I wouldn’t make you hurt these men. I said it was too early for that. But _I’m_ going to hurt them. And I want to give you one last opportunity. Would you like to hurt them too?”

Elsa’s lower lip trembles a little and she tries her best not to melt into Emma’s arm around her waist.

“I want them hurt,” she admits quietly, voice barely above a squeak. “But I don’t want to be the one to do it. I can’t, Emma, I’m sorry I’m—“

“It’s okay,” Emma says soothingly, bringing her hand up to stroke along Elsa’s cheek. “I told you we’d start out slow, so we will. I’m very proud of what you’ve done so far. You’ve been very good.”

Elsa almost feels like crying, she’s so happy to hear that. She wants more of this, more of Emma being kind to her, more of Emma giving her the opportunity to avenge herself, more of Emma protecting her, praising her, being pleased with her.

All she can do is nod silently though, leaning her face gratefully into Emma’s hand. 

“Now I’d like you to go sit down,” Emma says. “And watch what I do. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, you’re not allowed to look away. Understand?”

Elsa nods, sparing a glance at the two men whose faces have gone chalk white.

“Good,” Emma says approvingly. “Now go make yourself comfortable. We’re going to be here awhile.”

*

Several hours later, Elsa isn’t sure if she feels vindicated or not. The men aren’t dead, just as Emma promised, but they aren’t well off. A particular shot to the frozen knee caps of one of them and the resulting scream he made was one of the most horrible sounds Elsa has ever heard in her life.

She can admit to liking the abuse Emma doled out to them at first. It was savage and to the point— it felt like a real punishment, it gave Elsa a sense of true satisfaction, one that she didn’t even pretend to be ashamed of.

But then Emma didn’t stop. Because she wasn’t punishing anymore, she was enjoying. She was having fun. She was breaking already-broken things, just because, almost childlike in the reckless way she carried on. And every so often, she _laughed_.

Towards the end, watching their torment seemed hellish to Elsa, no longer satisfying. It was gruesome, and Elsa almost wishes Emma had just killed them, gotten it over with quickly.

But she didn’t look away. Not once. She did exactly as she was told and watched the entire thing.

She feels drained by the time Emma comes to her side, gathering her up in her arms in order to magic them both home.

_Home_. Elsa remembers the first day she called the loft _home_ the last time she was here— at first it had felt like a betrayal to Anna. She was supposed to be doing everything in her power to find Anna, to get them both back to Arendelle. Their _real_ home. But she was returning from the woods with Emma and it had just slipped out of her— _we should go home_ , and it felt so good, the idea of _home_ being somewhere with Emma.

And now, in some twisted, unexpected way, she has that. Emma. Home. And god, she’s just… _tired_. It’s nearly 4 in the morning and she just isn’t sure she can handle much more in spite of the fact that she has another 20 hours ahead of her that belong to Emma. She wants _home_ and _Emma_ to mean _sleep_ and _being held._ She can’t take the idea of having to witness or be part of any more brutality— she wants Emma Swan. She wants Emma Swan’s arms around her, she wants to feel safe. Taken care of. Loved.

But she’ll settle for the Dark One, she knows that. She’ll settle for this savage mongrel mix of Emma Swan and her darkness, and she’ll beg to be held and cared for, no matter what’s asked of in return.

God, only four hours gone and she’s already this desperate. What happened to her ability to turn the tables on Emma, to catch her off guard, surprise her, even get the best of her?

It’s just because she’s so exhausted, she thinks. It’s because she needs to sleep.

“Aren’t you tired?” she mutters a little incoherently as the smokey swirl of magic clears and she and Emma are back in the bedroom of the loft.

Emma makes a warm sound deep in her chest, something like a chuckle that rumbles pleasantly against Elsa, like a purr. 

“The Dark One doesn’t need to sleep,” Emma says, sounding amused.

Elsa frowns. “I’ve _seen_ you sleep,” she argues. “Several times.”

“I said I don’t _need_ to,” Emma tells her. “Doesn’t mean I don’t do it. It’s, y’know…I don’t mind it, when you’re around. You’re…surprisingly soothing. I actually kinda like doing just the _sleeping_ part of sleeping with you. It’s nice. Calming. I like drifting off when you’re close.”

She’s too confident when she talks about these things, Elsa thinks. It shouldn’t be _easy_ for someone— especially someone like _her—_ to so freely admit to liking _sleeping_ just to _sleep_ with someone. _Sleep_ shouldn’t be something seductive. It shouldn’t be yet another power Emma has over her.

“I’m really tired,” Elsa tells her, too exhausted even to care that her voice is coming out as a whine. “Can I please go to sleep? Just for a little while?”

Emma laughs and kisses her temple. “Not yet,” she says.

When Elsa opens her mouth to protest, she goes on. “You were very good back at the diner,” she says. “You did everything I asked, and I’m very proud of you for that. _But_ …it did take a lot of persuading, and a _lot_ of arguing with you first, and that’s no good. You’re very lucky I didn’t count all your hesitations as out-and-out refusals or you would have lost our game already. I think you’ll agree with me when I say that kind of behavior deserves a little punishment. For your own good.”

Elsa wilts a little— enough to show on her face, apparently, because Emma laughs.

“No need to look so serious, Els,” the older woman assures her. “I told you we’re starting out slow, I mean that in every respect. You just need a little reminder of what it is we’re doing here.” She takes Elsa’s chin in her hand. “Not just because you disobeyed me, but because you almost lost the game for yourself. We need to toughen you up a little bit for your own sake, otherwise what chance are you going to have against me, hm?”

Elsa peers at her incredulously. “You honestly expect me to believe you’re going to…punish me…in order to _help_ me win?” she asks.

“Well, not _win_ exactly,” Emma tells her with a smile. “I’m still definitely banking on you losing. But you’re kinda sweet when you act all high-minded and self-righteous and I don’t want you to lose that fight in you this early on. It’s too much fun.”

Emma releases her and takes a step back, looking her over thoughtfully and tapping a finger to her chin. Finally she seems to come to a decision of some kind and orders, “Dress off.” 

Elsa’s first impulse is to protest, but then she remembers Emma’s warning about counting hesitation as a refusal and begins to lift the flimsy material over her head, dropping it to the floor. She feels as if she should be over her shyness at being naked by now, but she isn’t. She still feels exposed and it takes a huge amount of effort to stop herself from crossing her arms shyly over her body.

She watches as Emma bends over and slides the dagger from its sheath at her boot, straightening and twirling it slowly in her hand, eyes still roving critically over Elsa’s body. Obviously deep in thought, Emma begins tracing the point of the dagger feather light along Elsa’s jaw, and then down her throat, to her collar bone, beneath the swell of her breasts…

It isn’t meant to be a threat, Elsa realizes. There’s both an absence, and a degree of focus to the way Emma is tracing the dagger over her, like she’s looking for something. Or maybe picturing something. It’s thoughtful, also precise, the way Emma uses the tip to drag carefully over each line and curve of muscle and bone. She even lifts Elsa’s hand, turning it over to inspect the underside of her wrist, before releasing it gently and ordering Elsa to turn around.

Elsa shivers as cold metal traces the edges of her shoulder blades and down the sides of her back. She’s almost ticklish, except for the fact that that’s a dagger running over her skin and she still isn’t sure what Emma plans to do with it.

She’s surprised when Emma suddenly speaks from behind her, continuing to play the dagger against the shape of her back.

“If I were to ask you who you belong to,” the older woman says, “what would you say?”

Elsa tenses, one shoulder tightening enough that it glances back against the dagger in a way that makes her cringe in spite of the fact that it wasn’t hard enough to cut into her.

“No one,” Elsa answers before she realizes what Emma is getting at. Once she does, she braces herself for the anger she’s sure will come.

Instead, Emma just makes a humming sound and says, “I thought you might say something like that.”

She circles around to Elsa’s front, hand drifting briefly at her waist. Then she crouches down on the floor and Elsa gasps as she trails her fingers around the backs of her knees, up her thighs. She can feel her face starting to flush and bites down on a whimper as Emma’s thumbs brush over the insides of her upper thighs.

“And you really believe that, don’t you,” the older woman says, looking up at her. “That you don’t belong to anyone.”

Elsa bites down on her lip when Emma leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, a pitifully high-pitched whine tumbling from her lips at the feeling of the older woman’s mouth on her.

“I think that’s the crux of the problem we’re having here,” Emma says, pulling away slightly and looking up at Elsa from under hooded eyelids. “You still think you belong to yourself.” She stands to her feet, lifting Elsa’s chin with the point of the dagger, and angles her head at something behind Elsa. “Get on the bed,” she orders.

Elsa obeys, sitting back on the edge of the bed and beginning to scoot her way back.

“That’s far enough,” Emma says. She strides forward to stand at the edge, tapping the inside of Elsa’s knee with the flat of the blade. “Legs open,” she says.

Blushing down to her chest, Elsa starts to part her legs tentatively.

“Wider,” Emma instructs, a hint of impatience coloring her tone. The sound of it goes straight to Elsa’s core, making her clench involuntarily as she spreads her legs wider. She knows her arousal must be painfully obvious because Emma smirks a little as she looks her over, gliding the flat of the blade up the inside of her thigh, just under the apex of Elsa’s thighs.

Elsa jolts back reflexively, only to have Emma grab her ankle and pull her back in closer.

“Nuh-uh,” the older woman chides. “Did I say you could move?”

She raises the dagger to Elsa’s center again, pressing the cold hilt against Elsa’s clit, moving it in slow, small circles.

Elsa shudders, mouth falling open as stuttering cries tumble from her and she clutches at the sheets beneath her. It feels so incredibly good, but she can’t help but feel absolute terror at having that _thing_ touching her so intimately. She wants more than anything to get as far away from it as possible, but at the same time…

“I love the sounds you make, have I told you that?” Emma murmurs, dragging the hilt of the dagger down further to to glide lightly through Elsa’s slick folds. “I like being the only one who gets to hear them.”

Elsa arches back with another cry, legs spreading even further without conscious thought to give her better access.

“Am I the only one who gets to hear you make those sounds, Els?” Emma asks her.

Elsa nods fervently. “Yes Emma.”

“And am I the only one who gets to see you like this?”

“Yes Emma.”

“Then who do you think you _actually_ belong to?” Emma asks.

“Y-you,” Elsa stammers out. “I belong to you, Emma.”

Emma gives a small smile and finally removes the dagger from Elsa, making her sigh with both relief and disappointment, not sure which she feels more. 

“That’s right,” Emma says. “But see, the problem is, the only time you seem to remember that is when we’re like this. I think you need a constant reminder that you’re mine, so you never lose sight of that fact. What do you think?”

Elsa’s not sure she’s _capable_ of thinking.

“…I…”

“The answer we’re looking for here is _yes_ , Elsa,” Emma tells her, eyebrows raising with amusement.

Yes, then. Elsa can manage a yes.

“Yes Emma,” she breathes.

Emma nods approvingly. “I think so too,” she agrees. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

She angles the dagger so that the edged tip is pressed against Elsa’s inner left thigh.

“This is going to hurt,” she warns. “But then, you deserve that, don’t you, Els?”

Elsa is nodding before she’s even registered what Emma has just said. The desire to agree with everything Emma tells her is overwhelming— and even when what Emma said _does_ register, part of Elsa still agrees.

Her agreement quickly turns into a surprised hiss of pain as the edge of the dagger nicks into the soft skin of her inner thigh.

Her gaze flies up to Emma, leg twitching back in pain and shock.

“What are you doing?” she gasps.

Emma looks back at her with a trained sort of patience. “You and I both agreed you need a constant reminder of who you belong to,” she says. “Not to mention, a constant reminder of what’s at stake here for you. What do you _think_ I’m doing?”

The answer is obvious of course, but for some reason Elsa can’t quite bring herself to say it. Emma is going to mark her, _permanently_ , _painfully_ , and with that _thing._  

If this is what she calls _starting out slow_ what does that mean for later on?

“You know I’m not a big fan of hesitance, Els,” Emma warns. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I take that as a refusal?”

It’s only been four hours. 

Elsa shakes her head. “No Emma,” she whispers.

“So you’ll let me do this to you.”

“Yes Emma.”

“No complaining.”

“Yes Emma.”

“No pulling away.”

“Yes Emma.”

Emma’s eyes soften, and she looks down at Elsa with an odd level of fondness, considering what she’s about to do.

“That’s my girl,” she murmurs, reaching a hand out to stroke her thumb briefly across Elsa’s jaw. Then she turns her attention back to her thigh and the thin line of faint red that’s already stopped bleeding.

“Don’t move,” she instructs softly.

*

The hour crawls by achingly slowly as Emma carves shallowly into her. She’s careful, precise. Deep enough to cause pain, deep enough to scar, but shallow enough to discourage an excessive amount of blood spill.

Elsa’s entire body aches from trying to keep as still as possible. She had lain back flat against the mattress within the first few minutes of Emma taking the blade to her, unable to hold herself up on her elbows through the hurt. Sweat has beaded up across her skin and no matter how hard she tries, she can’t help but pant out each breath at the pain of it all. 

Emma glances up at her with just her eyes. She doesn’t smile, but there’s something in her look that borders on warmth. Without thinking, Elsa reaches her hand out, fingers curling around Emma’s arm.

Emma lifts an eyebrow, the warmth in her gaze cooling slightly. “Do you want me to stop?” she asks.

Elsa manages to shake her head, swallowing through another gasped breath. “I just want to be touching you,” she says. “Is that okay?”

Emma looks at her steadily for a moment, then she nods. “Yeah, that’s okay,” she says, and turns her attention back to the task at hand.

Elsa grips Emma’s arm like a lifeline as the minutes continue to tick slowly by. Any moment, she’s sure, Emma has to be nearly finished by now. She tries to tell by the movement of the dagger against her skin what it is that Emma is carving into her. She had assumed it would be her name, but she doesn’t think that’s it. She doesn’t have the energy to lift herself up enough to see, and anyway, she isn’t sure she’s strong enough to actually _watch_ Emma cut into her without reacting in some way. Her fight-or-flight instincts are already causing every muscle in her body to tense up— the effort it’s taking to lie still and just _take_ this type of treatment is exhausting. Even the part of her that wants nothing more than to do everything Emma tells her is struggling to reconcile this particular defilement of her body, and she doesn’t think she’d be able to take the actual sight of it.

After what feels like centuries, Emma finally pulls away, gently removing Elsa’s hand from its vice grip around her arm. She lifts that hand to her mouth and places a soft kiss to the palm.

“Stay here,” she says, “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

Elsa nods, body going limp and shaky as Emma stands and exits through the doorway. Her thigh feels raw, numb in some places, she thinks. The cuts themselves no longer hurt all that badly— now it’s just the exhaustion of the rest of her body seeping into her bones.

She sighs with relief when Emma reappears in the doorway, sitting back down on the bed, a warm wet cloth in her hand. She dabs carefully at Elsa’s thigh, washing it clean, the gentleness of her ministrations soothing Elsa’s shakiness.

“They won’t get infected,” Emma murmurs. “In case you were worried. Magic in the dagger won’t allow it.”

Honestly, infection was the last thing on Elsa’s mind, but she’s still grateful to hear it. She struggles to sit up, sighing with almost ridiculous contentment as Emma situates herself behind her so Elsa can lean back against her.

She looks down at the drying marks on her thighs, trying to reason out what she’s seeing.

There’s three of them, three symbols, in a straight line going up her thigh. They’re smaller than it felt as if they were. Not _small_ — but nowhere near the gargantuan slices Elsa’s frantic imagination had come up with. She runs her finger gingerly over them, like that will help her understand them better: an encircled star, an eye, and a sun.

“What do they mean?” she asks.

Emma huffs a small laugh against her ear. She’s holding her incredibly affectionately, her hands and the rhythm of her breath soothing, making her feel more relaxed.

“Just Dark One stuff,” the older woman answers, in a surprisingly Emma-like fashion.

“What kind of Dark One stuff?”

“Among other things…it was a code to gain access to the holding place of the Dark One’s dagger.”

“So why is it on me now?”

Emma nuzzles into her neck. “The dagger’s my most precious possession,” she says off-handedly.

“So why is it on _me_ now?” Elsa asks again.

Emma kisses her ear. “It just came to mind,” she tells her. “Now why don’t you get a couple hours of sleep. I want you well-functioning.”

“For what?”

“For whatever I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I’m gonna start pulling a couple things from the actual show for background, like the star/eye/sun thing which was in 5x04 I think? Basically just assume that everything that’s happened in the show so far (as of 5x05) has happened here, just quite awhile ago, and it obviously ended badly.   
> Alrighty, thank you sincerely as always! Bye for now…


	8. Chapter 8

Something isn’t right.

That’s the only thing she can think as she strides down the castle hall to the dungeons. She isn’t sure _what_ isn’t right, or _why._ She looks to her side to see the prison guard escorting her, trying to sense if that not-right feeling is issuing from him. It isn’t. It’s just…hanging over her.

They reach the main prison door and the guard twists one of fourteen keys into the lock, pushing the door open. Elsa follows him through, aware of a sudden thickness to the air. It doesn’t smell bad, she realizes. It should smell terrible down here. That thickness should be suffocating. Instead it’s just heady, warm, almost pleasant if not for how ominous it feels.

The prison guard leads her down the hall to the last cell on the left. No one else is down here, each cell is empty. For some reason, Elsa can’t remember if this is how it’s supposed to be.

She stops outside that last cell and looks in, heartbeat picking up as she locks eyes with the figure inside.

Emma Swan kneels on the hard stone floor, chains wound round her arms, keeping them spread open and taut, angled slightly behind her, unable to move so much as an inch. An iron collar encircles her neck while a thin chain extends from a loop on its back to the wall behind her.

She looks up at Elsa and a half-smile spreads cruelly across her face, eyes glinting darkly at her.

Not Emma Swan. The Dark One.

The prison guard unlocks the cell, holding the door open.

“I’ll leave you to her as usual, Your Majesty,” he says.

“Thank you,” she responds curtly, though it feels as if she isn’t the one speaking. Her voice is so calm, practiced. She can’t have been the one who just spoke.

The prison guard turns and disappears down the hall. She waits until the main dungeon door shuts behind him before turning and striding through the cell door to join Emma.

“Been a month already?” the older woman sneers, smirk still present and cutting, eyes still glinting from under dark lashes. “And here I thought you said you’d never come back to me. Weren’t those your exact words last time?”

Elsa ignores her, pulling the dagger— the Dark One’s dagger— when did she get that?— from a delicate belt at her waist.

“You can’t stay away, can you Els?” Emma taunts. “That’s why you still come to me every month, no matter what.”

Elsa doesn’t respond, dropping to her knees in front of Emma to bring them level with one another.

“You can’t shut me up here forever,” Emma says lowly. “One of these days, you’ll set me free. You know you will. These brief little trysts will never be enough for you.”

Elsa still ignores her, dipping her head and kissing down her body, whimpering reverently as she does. She stops when she comes to a harness at Emma’s hips.

In a haze, she fits the dagger to the opening of the harness between Emma’s legs. As she watches her own hands work, the dagger seems to shift and morph itself until it’s no longer a dagger at all but a large, metallic phallus protruding from between Emma’s legs.

“Not enough for you to just touch the darkness anymore, is it?” Emma taunts with a short laugh. “Not even enough to just taste it. You actually need it inside you.”

Elsa turns her back to Emma, doubling over on all fours before reaching back behind herself to position the metallic phallus at her entrance. She can feel Emma’s glinting gaze on her as she shifts back, slowly impaling herself on the thing, wincing as it fills her all the way to the base of the shaft.

She gives a shuddering moan, arching her back as she begins to move, letting the shaft slide slickly back and forth inside of her. Behind her, Emma can’t move, she’s too bound up. It’s just Elsa pushing herself back against the metallic phallus over and over again, dropping to her forearms, sweat dripping down her back as she cries out frantically.

“It’s never going to be enough, Els,” Emma pants, and her voice sounds much too close. “This’ll never be enough for you.”

Elsa gasps, flying up to a sitting position, and looking wildly around herself.

She’s in the loft. In bed. There is no dungeon, no castle, no Arendelle. No Dark One in a cell, no…no Elsa submitting to an immobilized Emma.

Just a dream. Just a horrible dream that’s left her in a feverish sweat, but still disconcertingly wet between her legs.

“You okay?” a sleepy voice asks, and Elsa turns to find Emma stirring from sleep, looking up at her curiously. No glinting eyes, no smirk.

“Yes,” Elsa lies, attempting a smile. “Just…nightmares.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hums, sliding over and winding her arms lazily around Elsa’s waist, nipping at her side. “Poor Elsa.”

Elsa hisses as the sheets rub uncomfortably against the inside of her left thigh and the raw cuts resting there. The marks themselves burn slightly, and the skin around them aches, feeling like it’s pulled tight, like too much movement might cause the cuts to split open.

Emma makes a pitying clicking sound with her tongue against her teeth and bends down to press her lips softly to each mark. Her mouth is too warm against the dull burn of the cuts, but it’s also soft and Elsa sighs and leans back, opening her legs slightly to afford her better access.

Aside from the left-over pain, and the nightmares, she finally feels well-rested. To her utmost relief, the rest of Emma’s day had passed much more kindly than the beginning. After Emma had marked her with those symbols, she had woken up from a few hours rest only to have Emma be surprisingly sweet to her, if still incredibly domineering. Most of it had involved pleasuring Emma in some way— in whatever way Emma ordered— but it was, for the most part, remarkably free of pain, and Elsa can’t pretend she didn’t enjoy it. Emma held her, and even washed her, treating her well after the ordeal she’d put her through earlier until night fell and the two of them fell asleep together. Elsa drifted off feeling relieved to find that the older woman was still capable of doling out gentleness as well as pain and punishment.

Still…it wasn’t Emma Swan. Maybe only because Emma Swan would never have hurt her like that in the first place, but even the moments of sweetness…they were structured. They had to be earned. Emma Swan may have been a little rough around the edges, and she certainly didn’t dole out kindness to just anyone, but when she did, she never demanded anything in return. Not like the Emma she’s dealing with now. 

Elsa can admit to liking some of the structure of their relationship now— she relates to it. It makes sense to her, reward and punishment. It’s clear, it can be followed, and Elsa likes that.

But she misses Emma Swan and her easy way of making Elsa feel like the two of them were equals. The first time she had been here, Elsa had technically been her superior, but Emma Swan had a way of bringing her out of that state, nudging her down a bit, making her feel comfortingly normal and extraordinarily special at the same time. Now that Emma— the Dark One— is technically _Elsa’s_ superior, there is no attempt to make her feel equal. Everything she receives has to be earned.

“It’s your day, you know,” Emma mumbles against the skin of her thigh, breaking her out of her thoughts. She looks up at Elsa with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Has been for several hours now.”

Elsa’s gaze shoots to the clock on the nightstand— the one that reads 7am in glowing red. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she demands, panicking slightly at the hours she’s lost already.

Emma grins up at her and shifts onto her back, head resting in Elsa’s lap. From here, she looks a lot like a very self-satisfied cat.

“Because that would be playing fair,” she says. “And that’s no fun.”

She seems to be in a very good mood, which makes Elsa nervous. Emma’s confidence always seems to sap her own, and it takes Elsa a longer time to find her footing, especially because she’s still blinking away sleep. Emma is already awake and alert and playful and impish— already in control, in spite of the fact that this day is meant to belong to Elsa.

There’s something unsettling about that, and Elsa scoots away from her and stands, frowning. Emma follows her with her eyes, rolling back onto her stomach to keep her in her sight.

“Oh what, Els?” she drawls. “You _know_ me, you _know_ I don’t play fair— you can’t honestly be mad at me for that.”

“It isn’t that,” Elsa says, shaking her head. “It’s…” She can’t believe she’s about to say this. “…I just need a moment. A few moments. To myself.”

Emma’s eyebrows raise, but not before Elsa catches a brief flash of what looks like hurt cross the older woman’s face. She stands to her feet, jaw set, and says a little coldly, “Alright. Room’s all yours.”

“No, I mean…I need to get out of the house for a while,” Elsa says. “Just…get some fresh air. Clear my head.”

Something dangerous flickers behind Emma’s eyes. “And what, run off to talk to Regina?” she guesses coldly. “Or get some perspective from Gold? Or maybe go find some comfort in Ruby? She seemed awfully interested in you when she delivered you back here the other day.”

“She was just making sure I got home safe,” Elsa says, genuinely surprised by Emma’s sudden show of jealousy.

“Safe from the Dark One,” Emma drawls, moving closer. “What’s the matter, Els, was I too rough with you yesterday? Our game isn’t fun for you anymore? You need to go cry to that wolf?”

Elsa stares at her disbelievingly. She’d understand if Emma had insulted Regina— their relationship is complicated as it is, and she knows that especially because of Henry there’s now a toxic amount of bad blood between them. But to hear Emma go after Ruby, especially when Ruby had had nothing but fond things to say about Emma…it makes Elsa uneasy.

“I should’ve guessed she’d come sniffing after you, and that you’d want it after all this,” Emma goes on with a snarl. “Maybe she can be your new Savior, huh? That’s what you need, isn’t it, Els? You and everyone else in this fucking town, all you want is someone to save you, someone to make all your problems go away.”

Elsa gapes at her. “That’s…that’s not what I want at all,” she argues disbelievingly. “And I _don’t_ want Ruby— she doesn’t want me— she was only bringing me home— I don’t want her, I don’t want a Savior—“

“Then what the hell _do_ you want?” Emma snarls, advancing on her again. “What the fuck are you _doing_ here, claiming to hate the Dark One but still letting me do anything and everything I want to you? And don’t blame that on the rules of our game, you’re the one who put yourself in this position in the first place. You’re all self-righteous one minute, and then begging to belong to me the next, this whole fucking thing was _your_ idea— what the hell do you _want,_ do you even _know?”_

Her hands are on Elsa, pushing her back against the wall and Elsa grips onto her for balance. “I want _you,”_ she cries. “I don’t want a Savior _or_ a Dark One, I want Emma Swan, I want _you_ , the real _you!”_

Something bursts from her hands— hot and unexpected, like a jolt of static electricity, nothing like what her magic usually feels like.

Emma winces, jerking her hands back off of Elsa as a ribbon of grayish-white magic whips around her, slithering around her entire body for a split second.

When it clears, Elsa gasps audibly.

Emma no longer looks like the Dark One. Gone is the black leather, the whitened-blonde hair pulled back severely against her head. Instead, Elsa is face to face with Emma Swan— _her_ Emma Swan— exactly the same, down to the last detail, as the sight she had been met with over a year ago, the first time she had ever laid eyes on her. Right down to the skinny jeans, white shirt, and tan leather jacket. Right down to the golden blonde hair Elsa remembers. Right down even to the sheriff’s badge at her belt.

Emma looks down at herself in surprise. “Interesting,” she murmurs, before quickly magicking herself back into the image of herself that has become the Dark One. “I wondered if something like that might happen.”

“Like what?” Elsa asks, still struck by what she had just seen. “What just happened?”

Emma bites her lip slyly, crowding in close again and reaching down to run her fingers over the marks on Elsa’s thigh. “Just a little experiment,” she says. “Wasn’t sure about the side effects, but…well, I guess it could be some fun while it lasts.”

“What could be some fun?” Elsa asks. “What did you do?”

Emma smirks at her, but says nothing.

“Emma, what did you do?” Elsa demands again, somewhat shrilly.

“Why are you _asking_ me?” Emma drawls with a slight eyeroll. “This is _your day_ , Els. You want me to do something, then _make_ me do it. Otherwise I just won’t.” She ends that with a grin.

Elsa blinks. How could she have forgotten? She’s allowed to— not _allowed_ , Emma isn’t _allowing_ her— it’s not up to Emma, why did she just think that?— it’s her _right_ to have power over Emma today. _She’s_ the one in control here, she…

She’s not the one in control here. That much is obvious. So far already, everything that’s happened today has been by _Emma’s_ desires, not hers. Even on the day that belongs to her, Emma is still fully the one in control. She’s the one who _told_ Elsa to take control. That’s…almost too ridiculous for Elsa to wrap her mind around.

“Tell me, then,” Elsa orders, lifting her chin as assertively as she can. “Tell me what you did.”

Emma smiles. “Much better,” she congratulates, then she shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I wanted to see what might happen if I claimed you using the Dark One’s symbols instead of Emma’s name. _While_ using the dagger, of course. I wanted to see if I could put a little darkness in you.”

Elsa stares up at her. “You…you put darkness _in_ me?” she gasps.

“Only a little,” Emma says with another shrug. “And it wasn’t even totally intentional. I just started noticing there was some transfer as I was carving into you, and I decided to allow it. Just to see if it might…help you along at all.”

“You cheated,” Elsa breathes, feeling suddenly tainted, dirtied. “You didn’t bring my own darkness out of me, you used magic to put darkness _in_ me. That’s not…what we agreed, that’s not…”

“It’s not _cheating,”_ Emma argues a little sourly. “I was just giving you a little taste to see if you might like it. It’s not like it’s _permanent._ And you can rest assured I definitely won’t be doing it _again_ — it actually made me tired yesterday, made me need to sleep. Not to mention, I’m not a huge fan of the fact that you just used the Dark One’s powers to make me look like the _Savior_ — I can definitely do without _that_ ever happening again. Still though…out of curiosity…how did it feel, losing control like that?”

Elsa sets her jaw. “I don’t have to answer that,” she says stubbornly.

Emma grins. “Okay.”

“I’m going outside now,” Elsa tells her stiffly.

“Okay.”

“Alone.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t want you watching me.”

Why does it sound like she’s asking for permission?

“Okay.”

And why does it sound like Emma is granting it?

“I…I want you here when I get back,” she says, trying her best at an authoritative tone. An order. She’s a queen after all, this shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. “You’re not to leave this room while I’m gone.”

Emma grins again, looking amused at her tone. “Okay.”

*

Emma was right of course, she _is_ going to the vault to see Regina. But not for— God, of course not for Ruby, not like that. Emma’s sudden paranoia about that was deeply unsettling to her. After all that Elsa has been willing to do for her, how could she possibly even _imagine_ that Elsa would be anything less than completely loyal to her?

But then of course that paranoia had just completely evaporated once Elsa showed signs of having taken in some of the Dark One’s powers. Emma had seemed perfectly willing to let her go once that happened. 

_Unpredictable._

_Unpredictable, volatile…violent._ Those were the three words Regina had used to describe Emma to her after she ripped her away from Arendelle. Emma is certainly all three of those things. A storm ready to break loose, as Elsa can understand all too well. 

_Far_ too well, in fact. Wasn’t that all she _ever_ felt growing up? This storm just _begging_ to be set free? Having to push down every impulse, every desire, conceal-don’t-feel to the point that she thought it might drive her insane? To the point that when she _did_ lose control the day of her coronation she became…well she became unpredictable. Volatile. Violent.

And how powerful she’d finally felt.

_It’s not darkness, Els, it’s freedom._

“Quiet,” she mutters to herself.

“Talking to yourself?” comes a voice from behind her.

She wheels around to find Ruby trotting up beside her, wide friendly grin fully in place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the brunette continues. If she’d had a tail, she would have been wagging it. Then again, Elsa supposes she sometimes _does_ have a tail.

“I just saw you walking alone and decided to come say hello,” Ruby explains. “You headed to Regina’s?”

“Well…”

“‘Cause I might avoid that place just now,” Ruby advises her. “She’s in a shit mood. Sorry. She’s in a bad mood.”

Elsa presses her lips together. “Has she ever been in a particularly _good_ mood?” she can’t help but ask.

Ruby laughs. “Yeah, occasionally— I mean I know she comes on a little strong, but she’s actually got a big heart once you can find it. Deep down she’s just a big pile of mush, really. I mean sometimes when we’re—“ Ruby breaks off suddenly, looking guilty as only she can. “Well. She can be really nice sometimes, I guess is what I’m trying to get at.”

Elsa raises her eyebrows.

“I mean sometimes she scratches me behind the ear in this one spot,” Ruby blurts out. “It’s fucking heavenly.”

Elsa laughs, unaccustomed to that particular sound coming from her throat.

“So where’s Emma?” Ruby asks, easily sliding out of her embarrassment into friendliness again. “I thought the two of you were supposed to be locked in that deep dark mysterious game of yours.”

“I…just needed to breathe for a second,” Elsa says hesitantly.

“I can understand that,” Ruby agrees. “Sometimes I need a second to breathe away from Regina too. Not that it’s the same thing,” she adds hurriedly. “I mean, Regina’s not trying to turn me into her evil sex slave or anything.”

Elsa almost laughs, but then she isn’t sure whether Ruby is actually joking or not, and creases her brow.

“That’s not what Emma’s trying to do,” she says.

“Oh,” Ruby responds, looking a little embarrassed. She bites her lip thoughtfully. “Out of curiosity…what _is_ she trying to do?”

“She’s…”

Elsa breaks off.

“Well she’s trying to bring out the darkness in me…” she says carefully.

“Well sure, we all know that, but what for?” Ruby asks. “Like just for shits and giggles, or what?”

Elsa walks with her in silence for a moment, not sure how to answer.

“Can I ask what _you’re_ trying to do?” Ruby ventures after a time.

Elsa looks at her. “You know what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to…get her back— get her back under control. Win the dagger back so the town can be made safe again.”

“Yeah but like…I don’t know, what are you _actually_ trying to do?” Ruby asks. She shrugs at Elsa’s look. “You don’t have to worry about me judging you, or like, getting you in trouble with Regina or anything,” she says. “I told you last time, I get that it’s more complicated than everyone else wants to believe it is. I was just wondering what you’re getting out of it. Really. Like do you honestly think you can win?”

Elsa exhales shakily, feeling frustrated tears gather at her eyes. “I’m not sure I _want_ to, that’s the problem,” she says weakly. “Sometimes I do— a lot of the time I really do. But I see… _so_ much of me in her, more than I want to, and it’s difficult to ignore that. She can be kind, and funny, and protective, and generous, just like she used to be. She’s not _gone_. But she’s out of control, sometimes to an extent that means she doesn’t care _who_ gets hurt. She was more than willing to risk me accidentally injuring over thirty people at the diner yesterday just to punish two men. It’s like…I can almost be happy with what she’s become, because every so often it starts to make _sense_ to me, but then she does something like that, and I can’t…no matter how much I love her, I can’t…be okay with that. It isn’t in me to be okay with that.”

Ruby presses her lips together thoughtfully. “So…having said all that,” she says, _“do_ you know why you’re here? Why you’re participating in this game thing?”

Elsa bites her lip. “Because she’s still Emma,” she says finally. “At first, I thought she wasn’t. All I could see was her violence, her cruelty. She’s the darkest parts of Emma, but she’s still Emma. And I can’t leave her. I can’t be without her. I…love her. The best of her, the worst of her, all of it. I don’t want to pick and choose which parts of her are better, which parts are worth loving when it’s all part of the same thing, And even if I do lose, I think I’d actually be alright with it because it’s still her. I’d still get to be with her.”

Ruby looks a little troubled. “I feel like I should warn you,” she says. “If you do lose, Regina will do everything in her power to get that dagger. And I mean _everything_. She’s gotten…desperate, I guess. She’s willing to do what she wasn’t before— she’ll risk every life in town, every life she needs to in order to make things safe for Henry.”

“Regina couldn’t beat Emma in a fight, she’s not strong enough,” Elsa says.

“Not in a one-on-one power struggle kind of way, no,” Ruby agrees. “But Regina knows Emma’s weaknesses better than anyone. Better than you, I think. I don’t mean that as a judgment, just the truth. None of us wants it to come to any kind of all-out war, but the thing is, Elsa, I actually think Regina would win. You being here has given her time enough to figure out a strategy and…I think she could actually pull it off.”

Elsa studies her carefully, feeling something gnawing at her insides. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

“Because you’re _nice_ , Elsa,” Ruby says with a shrug. “Because you actually care. I don’t like seeing nice people get hurt, especially when they put themselves in danger for like, noble reasons. Just be careful, okay? If you win your game, we all get to be safe. If you lose, Regina will destroy Emma, and anyone else who gets in her way. She can do it. With what she has in mind, she could actually do it. It’s more than just _you_ at stake here. Please, just…I know you’re tempted to give in. I know you love Emma. But just… _try_. _Try_ to win. For all of us.”

It would be easier to ignore, Elsa thinks, if Ruby didn’t remind her so damn much of her sister.

*

There’s something impish about the aloof way Emma treats her when she gets back to the loft. Odd enough, Elsa thinks, is the idea of someone being both impish _and_ aloof at the same time, but if anyone can do it, it’s Emma. She gives Elsa a curious cock of the head, and a devilish little glint of her eye, but doesn’t immediately come to greet her in the aggressive, possessive way Elsa has grown used to. She just waits, watches.

Jealousy, Elsa thinks.

Or else she’s just toying with her because she didn’t get her way.

It’s troubling that Emma can still punish her, even when it isn’t her day.

It’s also troubling how _childish_ Emma can be. In some ways, it seems like that’s where all her power comes from, is just a childish selfishness that’s frighteningly close to being endearing. Just like a child. Infuriating one moment, but able to turn that frustration into charm with almost no effort whatsoever.

So how to get her back _under_ control? How to not fall prey to that sweetly sinful charm?

Elsa thinks she might know, but she isn’t sure what the repercussions might be for herself. It requires using dark magic— the Dark One’s magic Emma put in her. She had hoped not to use it, for fear that she might develop the same attachment to it that Emma obviously has, but at this point…almost anything is worth a shot.

Leaning back against the door, Elsa locks eyes with Emma for a moment before beckoning her forward with a shy crook of the finger.

In some ways, Emma _is_ predictable. She does have her weaknesses, Elsa thinks, lust being the most obvious one as Emma saunters over to her with a _very_ poorly-hidden smirk. All aloofness long gone, the older woman slides her hands up to Elsa’s waist and begins kissing her neck. A small part of Elsa can’t help but wonder at the fact that Emma almost never initiates anything by kissing her on the mouth. Everywhere else, certainly, but rarely the mouth. She only does that if Elsa asks for it, or if Elsa pulls her in first. Elsa can count on one hand the number of times Emma has actually instigated a kiss that wasn’t just a manipulation or a claiming of Elsa in some way.

She’s starting to nip impatiently at her neck, Elsa realizes, one hand sliding down eagerly to grab at her ass.

Elsa’s tightens her fingers in the older woman’s hair, pulling her back just enough to bring them level with each other.

“Slow,” she breathes. Surprisingly commanding, given how soft it is. 

It seems to appeal to Emma on some level, because the older woman looks amused, leaning in to touch her forehead to Elsa’s. After a moment she angles her head, ghosting her lips against Elsa’s without actually kissing her.

“Tell me,” she mumbles softly. She bites down carefully on Elsa’s lower lip, tugging it gently back before letting go. “Tell me how.”

Elsa moans softly, tongue licking at the corner of Emma’s mouth. She reaches down, taking one of Emma’s hands in hers and lifting it up to cup her face. She leans into the hand, then presses in and kisses her slowly.

Emma kisses back obediently, but Elsa can practically feel the effort it’s taking her to control herself from doing any more than she’s been permitted. She presses in a bit harder to keep Emma occupied and focused on her.

At the same time, she starts to run her hand down Emma’s back, willing herself to find that sliver of dark magic Emma put in her. It feels fainter than before— _it’s not like it’s permanent_ , Emma had told her earlier— but it’s still surprisingly easy to latch onto, like it _wants_ to be found.

Elsa squeezes her eyes shut, willing it to flow through her, feeling something shudder between herself and Emma.

All of a sudden, her fingers are buried in thick golden tresses, Emma’s hand on her cheek feels rougher, more calloused, the leather rubbing against her is worn, not so stiff.

Emma opens her eyes, pulling away slightly as she realizes something is different. A frown starts to crease her brow slowly as comprehension dawns on her and she realizes she’s been glamoured into the Savior again.

Seeing her hesitation, Elsa lifts her hand to Emma’s face. “Please,” she whispers, “like this…”

Emma jerks her head away just far enough, grasping Elsa by the wrists to hold her in place. Her face is a completely unreadable mask.

“What,” she says flatly, “you want me to fuck you as the Savior?”

“I want you to…” Elsa swallows, “…make love to me…as Emma Swan.”

Emma’s eyes narrow, and something in the air becomes brittle. 

“No,” she says.

Elsa’s lips part in surprise. “No?” she echoes, not sure if she just heard right.

“No,” Emma says again, dropping Elsa’s wrists and taking a small step back.

“But you’re…” Elsa stammers, unable to quite believe this. “…You’re refusing?”

Emma doesn’t answer, just continues to stare coldly back at her— colder still since it’s the image of Emma Swan that’s looking back at her, not just the Dark One.

“Emma, it’s only the second day, you can’t possibly be serious…”

“What, I don’t _look_ serious?” Emma asks blandly.

Elsa feels stunned. Of all the things she had expected, this is the last.

“But…why?”

Emma just continues to _look_ at her.

That look is infuriating and Elsa feels something flare up inside of her.

“Tell me,” she snaps off. An actual order for once.

Emma sets her jaw. “Tell you?” she repeats. Before Elsa can register the movement, she whips her hand out, clamping it around Elsa’s throat and pushing her back against the door. “Because it doesn’t _matter,”_ Emma snarls. “It doesn’t _matter_ which version of Emma I am, I can still hurt you. I still _enjoy_ hurting you.”

She stares Elsa down, eyes on fire. “It’d be worse like this, don’t you think?” she asks. “If I were to hurt you? If I were to force you to do whatever I wanted? It’d be worse for you if I did those things looking like this. It’d make it harder for you to keep trying to differentiate between your fantasy and my reality. Though on second thought, maybe that’s what you need. Maybe you need something violent like that to happen to free you of this particular delusion of yours that there’s some _ideal, perfect_ version of Emma Swan hidden away somewhere.”

Elsa gasps as Emma presses down on her windpipe. “How does that sound, Els?” the older woman growls, free hand cupping her roughly between the legs. “No difference, is there? You can dress me up however you want, I can still hurt you all I want. Makes no fucking difference at all.”

“Emma—“ Elsa gasps, vision going starry at the edges.

“What’s wrong, Els, you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Emma snarls, fingers curling inside her. “I thought this is what you wanted— Emma Swan, all yours, just like you asked for.”

In a flash of desperation, Elsa knocks the inside of the wrist Emma has at her throat, shoving her back and slapping her as hard as she can across the face. 

There’s a sharp _crack_ from the sound of Elsa’s palm colliding with Emma’s cheek, and the older woman’s head whips to the side from the impact. Elsa’s chest heaves, out of breath, having shocked herself almost more than she shocked Emma.

There’s a deafening moment of silence as Emma lifts her hand up to touch gingerly to her cheek. Then she lifts her eyes and offers an entirely mirthless smile to Elsa. 

“Told you,” she says.

Elsa struggles to get her breathing back under control, leaning back against the door and staring back at the older woman.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” she argues breathlessly, ire rising stubbornly in her again. “You never answered me.”

“Answered you what?”

“You never answered me _why_ you won’t be Emma Swan for me.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, but Elsa cuts across her. “The _real_ answer,” she instructs. “No lies. No deflections.”

Emma angles her head, looking somewhere between bored, irritated, and impressed. Elsa can’t decide which one it actually is.

“Maybe I’m just trying to protect you,” the older woman answers finally.

Elsa reels in the urge to snort. “Protect me. You force me to help you torture two men, you carve symbols into my skin, force darkness into me without my knowledge…go after me…in the way you just did…and you honestly expect me to believe you want to protect me?”

“I do.”

“From what?”

“From you, mostly,” Emma says. “I don’t think you’re aware of how much damage you’re doing to yourself.”

Elsa isn’t sure she actually has it in her to inquire further into what Emma means by that, it all sounds so…delusional. 

“And that was worth a refusal to you,” she says disbelievingly.

“Yes. I told you. I’m protecting you.”

“But you enjoy hurting me.”

“Of course, but who ever said those two things were mutually exclusive?”

Elsa just shakes her head.

“It’s like this whole…stupid conflict between dark and light,” Emma goes on. “They don’t exist without each other, I learned that the hard way. They’re not mutually exclusive. They compliment each other.”

“But you refuse to be Emma Swan for me.”

“Emma Swan— the Emma Swan _you_ want— is a fantasy,” Emma tells her. “It’s not a question of dark versus light. It’s not real at all. There’s nothing to be gained or learned from falling prey to something like that. It’s a waste of time. All it is is weakness. And I’m not about to be weak. Not even for you, not even for our game.”

Elsa swallows thickly and lets her gaze fall, feeling shame rise in her.

“Now, am I allowed to go back to myself, or do I have to prance around all day like _this_ for you?” she hears Emma ask.

Elsa shakes her head, raising her hand and channeling that all-too-ready dark magic in Emma’s direction. When she looks up again, Emma is once again sheathed in black leather, hair pulled back tight, almost silver in this lighting.

“I’m impressed with the handle you’ve got on the darkness, by the way,” Emma tells her, a real smile stretching half-way, warmly teasing. “Disagree all you want, but you are a natural. I’ll bet if we tried it, the dagger would point to you, even if only a little.”

“I don’t want you to speak anymore,” Elsa says. “Not for the rest of the day.”

Emma grins, but stays obediently silent. Elsa still can’t help but think that at this point, the score is easily two to Emma, zero to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for those of you who asked— no I’m not going to be writing every single day of theirs, nor am I going to be writing every single thing they do during a day. I will for the first couple of days, but after that, we’ll be skipping ahead from time to time, otherwise I’m pretty sure this would turn into a giant tome, and, much as I love and appreciate you guys, I can’t sacrifice every waking moment I have to this thing or I’ll probably lose my mind. So it’ll be just the moments that push the story and/or the “progress” of each of them along. Thanks as always you pretty people. See you next time around…


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re rooting for Emma, this may not be as fun of a chapter for you. Sorry/not sorry. Sometimes Elsa bites back. Politely.

It takes Elsa an hour before her anger cools off, but when it does, suddenly her order that Emma remain silent for the rest of the day seems pointless to her. Not to mention self-defeating. So she sits them both down on the couch downstairs, facing each other. She knows she’s looking at Emma a little coldly still, but she can’t help it. Emma’s refusal— and her reasons behind it— had cut deeply, and her claim that Elsa was a natural at using dark magic had both terrified and infuriated her. She’s still angry with her, even if her temper has finally subsided.

“I want you to talk to me,” she tells Emma.

Emma raises her eyebrows.

“Forget what I ordered you before,” Elsa says. “You’re allowed to speak.”

Emma looks a little bored again. “And what exactly would you like me to speak about, Your Majesty?” she drawls. “You want a soliloquy about how guilty I feel about all the sins I’ve committed, and how much I wish you could save me?”

“No, that’s the opposite of what I want,” Elsa tells her stiffly. “I don’t really care _what_ you talk about, I just want you to talk, and I want it to be truthful.”

Emma looks a little surprised.

“…Why?”

“Because I don’t know anything about you now,” Elsa says. “If you’re not the Emma Swan I thought I knew, as you said, then I want to know who you _actually_ are.”

“You really just want me to talk,” Emma says disbelievingly. “That’s it.”

“That’s it.”

“Is this some kind of punishment?”

Elsa can’t help but smile slightly. “You got to cut into my thigh for hours on end to punish me for hesitating. You out-and-out _refused_ me— now you’re going to talk to me. It doesn’t matter what about. You can talk about the weather for all I care. I just want you to speak. Honestly. About whatever you happen to think of.”

For once Emma actually looks a little uncertain. 

“This is a stupid request,” she says.

“It’s not a request, it’s an order. Or are you going to go for your second refusal in one day?”

Emma lifts an eyebrow at the firmness of her voice. “Since when did you start snapping off orders like this?” she asks, looking intrigued in spite of herself. Then she gets a little glint in her eye. “Or is this the darkness I put in you finally starting to make you a little more assertive? It’s kinda sexy, I won’t lie to you.”

Elsa makes sure not to blush or drop her gaze. “Are you going to do it or not?” she asks.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she sighs. She looks out the window, then fixes Elsa with her most unimpressed expression yet. “It’s dark outside,” she says. “There. I spoke. Happy?”

She’s actually talking about the weather. Elsa tries not to be amused at the Emma-ness of it.

“No I’m not happy,” she says. “Keep going.”

“This is stupid.”

“It’s still an order.”

“Alright, it’s _really_ fucking dark outside. Better?”

“Why is it…really fucking dark outside?”

“Because I made it that way. Elsa, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever…”

“Why did you _make_ it dark outside?”

“Because I like it better that way.”

Elsa sighs frustratedly.

“Emma, I don’t want to have to guide you through every sentence. You know what I want. Tell me why you made it dark outside. Or don’t, and talk about something else if that seems more interesting to you. Like I said, I don’t care _what_ you talk about, but I don’t want to have to prompt you again. Understood?”

Emma looks the most annoyed Elsa has ever seen her, which Elsa can’t help but find just a little funny. “Sure thing, Your Majesty,” she mutters finally. “Fine. I’ll talk about how this is a stupid thing, how’s that.” She looks at Elsa challengingly like she expects Elsa to scold her, but Elsa just blinks back at her invitingly.

“This is a stupid thing,” Emma says again, now sounding like she’s reciting something. “And I don’t know what you’re expecting to get out of it. But if I have no choice, I guess I’ll bite: It’s dark outside, I’m doing something stupid right now, we’re sitting on a couch, in my parents’ loft, you’re pissing me off, I’d like a drink, and I’m bored.”

She looks at Elsa challengingly again, like she’s waiting for something, but when Elsa continues to look at her expectantly, she sighs and goes on.

“I’m bored because there are a thousand and one other things _I_ can think of that would be infinitely more fun. And if you think _this_ is in any way a good strategy for making me _want_ to give up my power as the Dark One, then I’m pretty sure you should just give up now. Talking was never a strong point of mine _before_ I became the Dark One, and it still isn’t now that I am. I can lie now, which is exciting, but speaking is still frustrating, and you can rest assured that tomorrow, when it’s my day again, you will be severely punished for making me do this.”

Elsa doesn’t doubt that at all. She expected it, in fact. But Emma actually seems to be getting into the rhythm of speaking now, so she just nods encouragingly.

“I also think you should remember,” Emma says, “that when you were good and listened to me yesterday, I rewarded you. So I fucking expect a reward after this. And I expect it to result in me getting to fuck you, otherwise I’ll punish you even more tomorrow.”

She’s still making demands, even on a day that isn’t hers. Elsa wouldn’t expect anything less though, and while of course she’s certain Emma will make good on her threats to punish her severely, the older woman won’t be able to act on those threats for another several hours. And seeing Emma finally look uncomfortable for once, Elsa can’t help but bask in small victories. It’s nice to feel in control for once. Even if it’s very fleeting.

“You don’t seem to fully grasp what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Emma goes on, her speech less stilted now, more like a very irate but real conversation. “I don’t know if you’re losing on purpose, of if you’re really just _that_ bad at our game, but as I said before, you’re going to need to toughen up at least a little if you _actually_ want to win.”

“I’m not the one who already used up one refusal,” Elsa can’t help but point out, then curses herself because she hadn’t meant to respond to anything Emma said. She only wanted to open her up, not throw judgment at her.

“But you _are_ the one who seems to lack the proper amount of conviction,” Emma counters. “You make contradictory claims, you fall for everything I say every single time—“

“Not every time,” Elsa argues heatedly. Anger is coming to her more readily, she wonders if that really _is_ the darkness Emma put in her, or if she’s still honestly just that hurt by Emma’s refusal. “I would even argue that you’ve fallen for _me_ several times. I’m not the only one with weaknesses, don’t think I haven’t noticed that.”

Emma has that dangerous look on her face again, the one that usually makes Elsa cringe. “I’ve never…” she begins.

“How many times was I able to wrestle the dagger away from you, Emma?” Elsa cuts across her fiercely. “Who got you to agree to making a deal in the first place?” She exhales frustratedly. “Why is it so important for you to believe I’m that helpless when you’d already started acting on what I wanted long before our game even started?”

Emma looks like she’s about to breathe fire. Elsa thinks she can feel the air around her crackling, like it’s gathering to do Emma’s bidding.

“Regina said that it was the Dark One’s motive to make deals, to give people their greatest wish in return for a price,” Elsa goes on. “So why is it that _you_ are the one who wished _me_ to stay? Why is that _you_ are the one putting yourself at risk by making this a _game_ instead of a _deal?_ Because you’re so in control? Because you’re so powerful?” She shakes her head. “You _do_ have weaknesses, Emma, and I don’t know what they are, but they’re there, they’re more apparent than you seem to want to admit to. And just because you’ve written me off as easy prey doesn’t mean I actually am. Now start speaking again and don’t stop until I tell you you can.”

Emma stares at her for a moment, looking almost as stricken as she had when Elsa slapped her. Then her gaze cools unpleasantly and she spends the next half hour stubbornly describing the weather in excessive, excruciating detail, just to spite her.

*

She already feels guilty for what she’s done. She didn’t mean to start a fight with Emma— one that had started the second she asked her to appear as the Savior for her, and only built up more after Elsa demanded she speak. 

The Savior. Not Emma Swan. Apparently Emma Swan was just a fantasy of hers. All there is is Savior and Dark One. And somehow, Emma is convinced that both exist inside her, but it was the Dark One who won out, because it’s stronger, because it’s more free. Because it suits her ends.

Yes, after listening to Emma’s stubborn weather report, Elsa’s anger has abated completely, and she is left with only her guilt. Emma _is_ a talented manipulator, getting her to feel guilt even when her anger was completely justified. But that’s the Dark One’s greatest strength, manipulation. If she wants to win, Elsa needs to keep reminding herself of that.

And she _does_ want to win, she realizes, at least in this very moment. It may be only a matter of time, as it always is, before she suddenly _doesn’t_ want to win anymore— Emma always seems to be able to twist her into _wanting_ to do her bidding. But for now, Elsa has gotten the smallest taste of what it’s like to be in control. Not in any grand sense of course, but she _was_ able to shock Emma— twice— pushing her away and slapping her, and calling her out for having weaknesses of her own.

It makes her uneasy though, having any kind of control over Emma in particular. She’s not completely sure she likes it, it feels like she doesn’t have a right to it. But at the same time, the feeling itself— the feeling of being in control, not over Emma, just in a more general sense— is a nice one. It’s a flicker of power, something Elsa has felt wholly without for the past several days.

She can see how that feeling could be a difficult one to say no to.

In any case, she’s tired of hearing about the weather, amazed that Emma could actually speak about it for so long. The older woman had gone on ad nauseam about different types of clouds, which oddly enough, she said, was one of the few lessons she actually retained from elementary school. Then of course she had quickly snapped back to describing the weather and only the weather, realizing she had let slip something about Emma Swan’s history.

Small victories, Elsa thinks. Small victories.

Still, the guilt is there, and Elsa takes her hand and interrupts her speech softly.

“Emma,” she says, trying to get her attention.

Emma’s eyes snap to hers, and she lifts an eyebrow curiously.

“That’s enough. You’ve…you’ve been very good.” The sentiment feels odd, coming from her. She prefers to hear it from Emma.

Emma looks like she isn’t sure whether to smirk, or to look unaffected, so she settles for blinking slowly, somewhat like a cat.

“So do I get a reward or what?” she asks impatiently. “I might go easier on you tomorrow if I do.”

“You need to stop making demands on my day,” Elsa says, trying hard not to find it strangely endearing.

Emma cocks her head, blinking slowly again. “Fine,” she says.

“And yes,” Elsa adds reluctantly, “you…you do get a reward.”

“Good girl,” Emma praises cheekily.

“You’re not allowed to call me that on my day,” Elsa says, tensing a little. Emma just can’t seem to stop being dominant with her, even when it’s not her day. Elsa feels that odd tug at her heart, and…well… _lower_ …at that fact. No one can make her feel this angry and this charmed at the same time. She’s always on the verge of laughing, or on the verge of crying, or on the verge of dropping to her knees and begging for…something, she isn’t even sure what…no one has ever made her feel like this.

She wonders if this is what love normally feels like, or if it’s just what loving the Dark One feels like.

*

“You’re supposed to be laying back,” Elsa says upstairs, looking down at Emma and her perch on the edge of the bed.

Emma purses her lips, smirking. “You know it’s kinda cute, watching you try to top me like this,” she says.

“I’m not trying to…” Elsa blushes. “Just…lay back.”

Emma does, as obediently as she can— which is to say, with yet another smirk— and sighs.

“You’re so annoying on your day,” she says.

“I thought you just said it was…cute.” The word feels odd to her.

“It’s both I guess,” Emma says agreeably. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

Elsa’s glad the tension between them has subsided somewhat. The whole reason she even came up with making a deal with Emma in the first place was because she loves her— she doesn’t like it when they’re at each other’s throats, when they _actually_ hurt each other. Elsa thinks she’d happily take another several hours of having Emma carve open her skin rather than another fight like the one they’d just had from Elsa’s insistence that Emma be the Savior for her.

She can take the physical pain— if she digs deep, she sometimes thinks she likes it— but not the _real_ kind of pain, the one where she and Emma reach moments much too close to real rage, real hurt.

If nothing else, she reasons that if they do ever get to that point again, she can just have Emma talk endlessly about the weather until they both calm down.

Emma’s slip-up earlier in mentioning that she’d had a teacher she liked who taught her about the different types of clouds is somewhat of a relief. Emma seems to think that Elsa is trying to win by making her want to give up her power— Elsa doesn’t think that’s even possible. What she _is_ trying to do is get Emma Swan— the _Savior_ , Emma Swan— to resurface, little by little. Memories, thoughts, anything to get that dagger to point even slightly away from her at the end of their game. Just _something_ , _some_ kind of proof that Emma and the Dark One _aren’t_ the same, that they’re just tangled up, that the darkness has latched onto Emma’s impulses and exploited them. Elsa just needs, on some level, however small, for Emma Swan to disentangle herself from that darkness, realize that it isn’t really freedom.

God, she hopes that’s true, other wise, what is she doing here?

“You look a little far away there, Elsa,” Emma says, breaking into her thoughts. “Or am I just supposed to ‘lay back’ for the rest of the day?”

Elsa frowns disapprovingly. “I told you you’re not allowed to make demands,” she says.

“It was just an observation,” Emma says with a shrug. “If I were to make a demand, it’d be a little more along the lines of ‘take off your clothes,’ and then we’d take it from there.”

She cocks her head playfully, looking at Elsa with that same glint in her eye.

“I _just said_ not to make demands,” Elsa says disbelievingly. “Are you sure you want to go for another refusal already?”

“That wasn’t a demand,” Emma denies easily. “I was just telling you what I’d say _if_ I were to make a demand. It was just an example, not a refusal.” She grins.

She’s honestly _that_ confident in her ability to win that she easily dances on the thin line separating teasing from refusal. It’s like a balancing act— one she’s already mastered very well. Mastered so well, in fact, that she very _purposefully_ stepped into a refusal when she refused to be Emma Swan for Elsa. That wasn’t an accident, Elsa knows that. It was a display of control, a reminder that, even on Elsa’s day, it’s Emma who is manipulating the game.

“So what’s my reward?” Emma asks. “Not that I’m not enjoying the chance to chill out with you on my lap, but as far as rewards go…”

Elsa raises a warning eyebrow.

“…Right, no demands,” Emma growls with a roll of her eyes. “Can I take your order then please, Your Majesty?”

Elsa bites her lip and lifts her hand to Emma’s throat, stroking down the column of it. She’s always liked Emma’s neck in particular. She likes being able to curl against her and tuck her head under Emma’s chin and breathe into her neck. Sometimes bite at it just a little, when Emma permits, of course. She permitted it yesterday. Sometimes Emma likes a little pain too, apparently.

As long as she controls it.

“I uhm,” Elsa says, “I want to play a game with you.”

Emma grins and slides her hands thoughtfully up Elsa’s thighs. “A game, huh?” she says. “Thought we were already doing that.”

“I mean as your reward. And also…a little bit…your punishment.”

Emma rolls her eyes again. “Didn’t you already punish me enough with that whole talking thing?” she asks.

Elsa shakes her head. “You refused me,” she says. “So the only way you get a reward is through a little punishment.”

Emma cocks her head up at her, one eyebrow raising. “Or,” she says, rolling them both over suddenly so that she’s on top and between Elsa’s legs, “instead of playing a game, I could just fuck you.”

Elsa bites her lip against a moan as Emma pins down her wrists and grinds down against her.

“It’d be faster,” Emma murmurs, nipping at her ear. “And better.”

Elsa hisses, tensing and squirming just enough to get the older woman to back off a little.

“Stop. Making. Demands,” she breathes, much less commanding than she was going for.

Emma grins down at her, shifting in just the right way. “It was just a suggestion,” she purrs. She noses at Elsa’s neck. “Come on, Els,” she mumbles, almost a whine except Emma doesn’t whine. “I haven’t let you come for days now, you’ve gotta be pretty desperate for it by now.”

She is. Emma didn’t permit her to come yesterday, and she denied her the last few minutes of Elsa’s first day. On top of that, the few days before then, Elsa had been resting after Emma removed all that glass from her body…and all the while, Emma has been teasing and taunting her, trying (and succeeding) to get her riled up. Elsa can almost be satisfied with just _touching_ Emma, nothing makes her happier— but she’d also do just about anything right now to get something in return.

But that, of course, is what Emma is banking on, so Elsa can’t give in. She’s learned by now; if she gives an inch to Emma, she loses a mile. 

So she wriggles her wrists free from Emma’s hold and pushes on her shoulders. Emma barely budges from the push, but she understands she’s meant to move, so with a resigned sigh, she rolls back over onto her back, allowing Elsa her freedom.

“So what’s this game you want to play, Your Majesty?” Emma drawls, looking bored again already.

Elsa situates herself alongside Emma so she’s pressed against her side, looking down at her. She takes a moment to trace at her jawline before skimming her hand down and running the backs of her fingers against Emma’s folds.

Emma hisses pleasantly, biting down on her lip and looking lasciviously up at Elsa.

“Alright, I guess I can be okay with this game,” she purrs.

“You want me to keep going?” Elsa asks.

Emma groans, still looking up at her with that confident smirk. “Yeah.”

Elsa stops moving her hand, but keeps it pressed against her. “Then you have to answer me.”

Emma frowns and looks up at her dubiously. “Didn’t we already do the talking thing?” she asks.

“That’s the punishment part,” Elsa tells her. “The reward part is where I continue to touch you, but only if you answer my questions. If you answer them, honestly, I’ll keep going. If you don’t answer, I stop touching you for several minutes during which you aren’t allowed to move, and we’ll have to start all over again.”

Emma purses her lips against a smile, looking a little impressed in spite of herself. “I kinda like this side of you,” she says. “Though don’t get _too_ used to it, you’ll have hell to pay for it tomorrow. But for now…it’s awfully sweet, seeing you try to be in control.”

“Are you clear on the rules?” Elsa asks, deciding it best not to respond to her taunts.

Emma grins. “Yeah, I’m clear.”

“Good,” Elsa says, beginning to stroke lightly between Emma’s legs. After yesterday, she’s now intimately familiar with exactly what Emma likes, and she’s going to get as close to that as possible without actually giving her what she wants. Emma looks up at her with hooded lids, waiting.

“First question,” Elsa says softly. “When I came to Storybrooke the first time, what did you think of me?”

Emma’s lips quirk up at the same time one of her eyebrows does. “You’re doing all this just to find out whether I _liked_ you?” she laughs.

“I’m genuinely curious,” Elsa says firmly. That, and more importantly, she’s trying to get Emma to keep talking about herself before she became the Dark One. This just seemed like the easiest way to go about it, Emma being much more inclined to teasing Elsa and being lustful than being open to…talking about her _feelings_.

Emma grins, falling for it. “Yeah, I _liked_ you,” she says. Elsa continues to press slow circles against her center encouragingly. “But I was seeing Killian at the time, and without the darkness, I was unwilling to act on it. You know, if I’d had it at the time, I wouldn’t have had any problem pursuing you, even if I _was_ still with him. Would’ve saved us a lot of time.”

She interrupts herself with a slight moan, and Elsa slows her ministrations, not wanting to allow her more pleasure than she’s willing to give just yet.

Emma sighs disappointedly and looks back up at Elsa. “It was a little tortuous, being around you then,” she admits, settling forward against Elsa’s hand. “You and me, sharing a bed, running around together trying to find your sister. And you would _cling_ to me in your sleep. I don’t think you knew that, but you did. And you were so _obvious_ about the fact that you liked me, it was hard, even as the Savior, not to take advantage of that. You were a sweetheart, and so innocently sexy. Of _course_ I liked you.”

“So this isn’t…” Elsa shouldn’t be asking this, it’s not what she’s here for. But she needs  to know. “I mean, what we’re doing here, now…you’re not just doing this because it’s… _fun_ , because you’re the Dark One? You actually liked me…before. As…as Emma Sw— as the Savior. Not just now that you’re the Dark One.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I just need to…am I replaceable?” she presses. “Would you be doing all this, this deal, this game, everything— would you be doing this if I were just anyone?”

Emma reaches down and clamps her hand around Elsa’s wrist, stopping her ministrations. Elsa’s eyes snap to hers in surprise. Emma props herself up slightly, looking at Elsa deeply.

“I was lonely,” she says carefully. “For entertainment, for distraction…I would have taken just about anyone.”

Elsa does her best to keep her face neutral, even as she feels heart begin to break a little.

“I’m glad it was you, though,” Emma goes on, eyes strangely fierce. “You don’t know how glad I am that it was you.”

She’s gripping Elsa’s wrist hard, like she really wants Elsa to listen to her. “And as for our game— you’re the only one,” she says. “You’re the _only_ one I’d have done all this for. I want you to lose, Elsa, I do. I want you to belong to me, I want to free you from everything _except_ for me. But I also want to give you a fighting chance to win, because it’s important to you. I would never give that chance to anyone _but_ you.”

“Why?” Elsa asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Why only for me?”

Emma shakes her head. “Don’t expect me to say that it’s because I love you, Elsa,” she warns.

“Why not?”

“Just don’t.” 

Emma looks genuinely, darkly upset, and all Elsa wants to do is wrap her arms around her and comfort her. She stays stock still though, because she isn’t sure what to think about what Emma’s just said. She isn’t sure whether she feels elated or brokenhearted. She isn’t sure whether Emma has just said, in her way, that she loves Elsa, or if she’s just rejected her. She’s being stubbornly evasive, and Elsa can’t even use the threat of this game-within-a-game as incentive to be truthful, because Emma stopped that incentive herself.

It’s gotten too heavy, much too quickly, and Elsa realizes she’s strayed into the wrong territory anyway. She’s supposed to be trying to coax Emma Swan— at least the memory of her— out, not inquiring into the Dark One’s present feelings about her.

So she’ll ignore her confusion for now, and use her one strength, her one source of self-protection left, and revert back to the impenetrable ice queen she had to be when she was growing up.

It’s just a game, after all. She keeps letting her emotions get in the way, and if she continues on like that, she has no hope of winning.

So ice queen it is.

She shifts up and straddles Emma’s hips, skimming her hand down between her legs in order to cup between Emma’s. She leans forward, ghosting her lips against the shell of Emma’s ear.

“Second question,” she whispers, and Emma shivers under her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else a little disappointed with how the show is handling the whole Dark One thing? I dunno, it’s annoying to me now that they’ve brought Hook in on it, so for the sake of this story, I’m going to go ahead and say that at this point it’s pretty much a total AU with no relation to the show at all except for the fact that Emma is the Dark One. Besides that, there’s no correlation between the two.
> 
> Other than that, I’ve been crap at responding to anyone’s reviews. It’s just been that kind of a couple weeks. Thanks for sticking with me though, you’re all a beautiful group of people that I am distantly but genuinely fond of. Like a somewhat negligent but well-meaning parent.


	10. 10

She’s starting to notice a pattern, one that she hadn’t expected. She had just assumed that _her_ days would be easier on both of them, being that she’s so much gentler than Emma.

Instead, the opposite is true. After a week now of their game, it’s become apparent that her days are fraught with tension between the two of them, whereas Emma’s days are almost… _comfortable._

True, Emma has upped the stakes as far as punishments go. Unlike Elsa, she doesn’t treat each day of hers as a blank slate; she remembers everything from each past day, everything Elsa does to her, or makes her do, and she holds it against her. Her punishments have grown infinitely more severe with each day that belongs to her.

Elsa’s response to that is to only become colder on her own days.

She feels like two separate people, alternating every other day. On her days, she trains herself to be unattached to Emma, to treat her as she would one of her subjects, distant and aloof. She possesses none of the easy, almost lazy control Emma has, but she keeps her in check by acting cold and uninterested while continuing to make her speak about herself, to speak about Emma Swan.

But then on Emma’s days, she finds herself craving affection, groveling for it, warming up to Emma, doing anything just for a simple touch from her. It’s like a switch she turns on and off in herself— one day cold, one day warm, one day cold, one day warm…and to think that the warmth comes from the days that belong to Emma…it just isn’t what she had expected.

“I want to try something with you,” Emma says a little over a week since the beginning of their game.

Elsa hesitates, not because she’s wary of _what_ this “something” might be, but more because of _how_ Emma has phrased it. It’s gentler than normal, which either means it will be particularly severe, or simply something she’s curious about, which could easily end up with Elsa in a great deal of pain.

Emma blinks slowly at her, and Elsa realizes with surprise that she’s looking for Elsa’s affirmation. In this entire time, she has never done that.

Elsa isn’t sure what _else_ to do— she certainly isn’t going to say _no_ — so she nods warily.

“There’s a couple stages to it,” Emma tells her. “It’ll probably take up most of the day. You’re clever though, I’m sure you’ll figure out what I’m trying to get across by the end of it. Probably before. It’s not too difficult.”

Elsa still isn’t sure what to say, so she nods again, pressing her lips together uncertainly.

Emma cocks her head, looking her over thoughtfully. “Think you should wear jeans for this,” she says unexpectedly. “I don’t want just _anyone_ able to see up that skirt of yours.”

That’s disconcerting. “Who else would—“

“No questions,” Emma says, holding up an admonishing finger. “Go get a pair of jeans and a shirt from upstairs. The jeans with the rips in the knees, you’ll be spending most of your time on them and I want it to hurt.”

Of course she does. Elsa nods one more time, and heads up the stairs to get dressed.

*

Emma uses her magic to deposit them back inside Granny’s Diner. There’s no one eating here, no one serving here, it’s almost completely deserted. Elsa guesses that after Emma had those two men tortured, no one has dared to come back.

There are, however, three new people gagged and bound by the wrists and ankles by some sort of black magic substance so that they are stretched uncomfortably from the ceiling to the floor.

“Emma, what—“ Elsa gasps before remembering she’s not allowed to ask questions. She turns to Emma urgently, trying to make her eyes do the pleading for her.

Emma smiles at her, probably because she remembered her orders so well. She gestures to the one woman and two men, all of whom are struggling frantically against their bonds.

“Welcome to Stage One of today’s lesson,” Emma announces with a grin. “The three people you see before you are all people who made deals with me in the past, and who have failed to make good on their end of the bargain. Obviously, that means they have to be punished.”

The struggling of the three captives becomes noticeably more frantic, and there are muffled protests from all of them.

Emma holds her hand up irritably to silence them and turns back to Elsa.

“Now here’s where you come in, Els,” she says much more quietly, so that only Elsa can hear her. “These are a lousy bunch of criminals. They’ve defied me, they’ve done nasty little things to other people, hurt a few, robbed a few, are responsible for a great deal of the damage this town has endured since my parents left. But they’ve never killed, they’ve never committed any truly _unforgivable_ act. Having said that, do you think, as per the terms of my agreement with them, that they should be tortured to the point of insanity?”

“No!” Elsa exclaims immediately.

“Voice down, please, Elsa, I don’t want you giving the game away just yet,” Emma says. “So you would like me to _not_ torture these people for their past crimes, to make them suffer until they’ve lost their minds, even though that’s the punishment they agreed to in the beginning. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” Elsa says urgently. “Please, Emma…”

“Here’s the thing,” Emma interrupts. _“I_ really _do_ want them to suffer to the point of insanity. It’s the consequence the three of them agreed to if they were to come up short, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to it. However, seeing how much you don’t want me to torture them, and seeing how much I care for you, I’m going to give you the opportunity to stop me.”

Elsa is desperate to ask “how?” but she knows that would be a mistake. No questions.

Emma grins again and lifts her hand up to stroke Elsa’s cheek. “You’re so good,” she praises.

Elsa tries to lean her face into the touch, but Emma is already taking her hand away.

“Now here’s what you have to do in order to stop me,” Emma says. “See, I really like to torture people, I’m guessing you’ve noticed. I like to hear them scream. I like having that amount of control. But I get a little bored when people _don’t_ scream. It just isn’t as fun. So if the three of these people don’t scream, no matter what I do to them, there’s a very good chance I might just get bored enough that I decide to let them go before they’ve reached their breaking point.”

She chucks Elsa lightly under the chin. “Now _your_ job,” she says, “if you really want to protect them, is to get them to not scream. You may speak to them, you may even touch them. But you must do everything on your knees. And if you _do_ speak to them, you must beg. As far as you’re concerned, the three of them are your superiors. You may grovel, you may plead, you may beg, but that’s it. If you speak to them in any other way, it will be counted as a refusal. If you’re able to keep them from screaming, by submissive means _only_ , then I will let them go.”

She takes Elsa’s chin in her hand.

“Is all of that very clear to you?” she asks.

Elsa feels her heart begin to pound in her chest. She doesn’t understand why Emma would do this. Why she would have these three people mounted as her _superiors_ , why she has to beg _them_ to stop screaming instead of begging Emma to stop torturing them. It seems round-about and confusing, and not at all what Emma usually wants from her. Emma never wants to share her with anyone, she never wants Elsa to bow to anyone else _except_ her. This doesn’t make sense.

But that’s the game Emma has in place, and Elsa has no choice but to agree. So she nods once more.

“Good girl,” Emma praises. “Now get on your knees and we’ll begin.”

*

In the end, it’s only one man that Elsa is able to save. The other two, either unwilling to listen to her pleas, or unable, continued to scream as Emma perched on the counter, hand extended carelessly, letting her magic rage through their bodies, twisting them from the inside until they were unable to form a coherent thought. And would never be able to again.

Emma claps slowly as she approaches to release the three of them from their bonds.

_“Nicely_ done, Elsa,” she praises, the words falling hollow on Elsa’s ears. “You did better than I thought. That was some A-plus pleading you just did.”

She waves her hand and the three captives fall to the ground, the one who still has at least most of his mind in tact fleeing as fast as he can, the other two stumbling uncertainly after him.

Elsa shakes her head, looking at the floor. “What you just did…” she says disbelievingly.

“…is completely reversible,” Emma tells her, crouching down and taking her chin in her hand. “If anyone cares to, if anyone actually cares _about_ those idiots, they’re more than welcome to make a deal with me in order to return their sanity. I’m not _that_ cruel that I wouldn’t restore them, for the right price.”

“Then _I’ll_ make a deal with you to restore them.”

Emma smiles and pecks her on the cheek. “I think you’re over your head in deals there, angel,” she says. “Let’s take it one at a time. Besides, your guilt is misplaced anyway. _You_ didn’t fail _them_ , _they_ failed _me_. You don’t owe them a second of your guilt, Elsa, so don’t waste any tears on them. And certainly don’t take any of your anger out on me. What happened to them was their own fault, they were _well_ aware of what would happen if they didn’t keep their end of the bargain. This all would have happened with you, or without you. And hey, you even managed to protect one of them. Not bad.”

“But why did you…” Elsa stops herself short before it can become a full question. 

Emma smiles appreciatively.

“You want to know why it is I made you beg _them_ not _me,”_ she guesses.

Elsa nods.

“It should become clear soon enough,” Emma says with a shrug. “You’re a smart girl, Elsa, you’ll figure it out.”

*

Emma returns them both to the loft in the familiar swirl of dark magic.

“You know I think I could use a drink after all that,” Emma says casually. “Why don’t you go get me one.”

Elsa turns obediently to the kitchen only to have Emma stop her by the arm.

“Nuh-uhn,” she chastises. She points to the ground. “On your knees. Whole rest of the day. Unless I give you explicit permission otherwise.”

It’s another dig at her pride. Emma’s gotten particularly good at weaseling out what really gets to Elsa and exploiting that. Elsa is shy, and she’s soft-spoken, but she’s also royalty, she has a great deal of pride about herself, even if it isn’t obvious. Emma’s figured it out though, and she loves putting Elsa through the ignominy of kneeling, of prostrating herself, of denying her any amount of dignity.

If she’s rewarded for it, Elsa likes it— she likes anything that ends in Emma showing her affection. But sometimes Emma puts her through that just for the fun of it, and Elsa never knows which it’s going to be.

She gets on her knees anyway, because lately hesitation has led quickly to pain, and worse, further denying Elsa to come. She hasn’t come in over a week now, Emma not permitting her to on her days, and Elsa refusing to engage in anything sexual on her own days. Elsa adores any amount of affection from Emma at all, but she’s nearly desperate after all this time to be permitted to come, and she knows that if she hesitates, it will just be denied to her again.

“Do you have a preference?” she asks of the drink, looking up at Emma subserviently.

“Dealer’s choice,” Emma answers with a small shrug. “Doesn’t really matter to me. And careful about those questions,” she reminds her.

Elsa swallows nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. This time. I know you were doing it for my benefit. Just keep it in mind, that’s all.”

Elsa nods, then hesitates, looking over at the kitchen. Is she supposed to…crawl? On hands and knees over to the counter? Like something lower than a human, like she isn’t even a person at all?

“Well go on,” Emma urges. “That drink isn’t going to pour itself.”

Elsa gives her an uncertain glance before sliding her hands forward to support her weight along with her knees. She notices Emma’s lips quirk slightly out of the corner of her eye. There’s a warmth to it though, like she’s proud of Elsa following her orders. In spite of everything, Elsa would do anything for that look.

She starts crawling forward and realizes suddenly exactly _how_ humiliating this is. She doesn’t think she’s _ever_ felt this degraded and awkward before— and given what Emma has put her through over the past week, that’s saying something. She feels like a slave, like an animal, and she feels almost more grateful than she’s ever felt before when she finally reaches the counter and can straighten back up to just her knees again. She can handle being on her knees— but to be on both her knees _and_ hands is testing every ounce of dignity she has left.

She’s actually glad to have the drink in her hand on the way back to Emma— it gives her an excuse to walk forward on just her knees, instead of crawling on all fours. She supposes she could have limped along on two knees and one hand, with the other raised, but one time crawling around like that was enough. She hopes never to have to do that again. 

Emma takes the drink from her appreciatively, stroking her cheek briefly, and then settles back against the couch, looking her over as she sips. Elsa doesn’t move, waiting for orders. 

“You don’t look like you liked that very much,” Emma comments.

Elsa shakes her head cautiously.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Emma says. “This is Stage Two of today’s lesson. I’d like you to fetch one more thing for me, on hands and knees of course. If you do it in thirty seconds or less, there might be a reward for you. _Might_ be. Sound fair?”

Of course it doesn’t sound fair. But Elsa can’t help but be a little intrigued so she nods.

“Good, I’m glad you think so,” Emma says, looking pleased. “There should be a large coil of rope in the closet there. Bring it back to me, thirty seconds or less, sweetheart. Got it?”

Elsa surprises herself by perking up a little bit. This is the Emma she likes, the warmer, more playful one, the one who really _likes_ to make everything a game. It makes Elsa more eager to do well, even if it involves crawling again.

She nods again, getting a smile in return, a full, genuinely pleased smile, and Emma says, “Alright then, on your mark. Get set. _Go.”_

Part of Elsa feels ridiculous, this high-speed crawling that she’s doing. Most of her just really wants to do well though, to see what kind of reward she might get. _Might_ get. But Emma’s in a good mood. And Elsa has done really well so far today. So there’s a high probability that she really _will_ get a reward and that spurns her onward in spite of her wounded pride. 

The coil of rope isn’t too hard to find. It’s lodged in with a couple other storage things though so Elsa has a little difficulty pulling it loose.

“Twelve seconds, Elsa,” she hears Emma say.

Elsa yanks as hard as she can and the coil finally comes free. She tucks it under her arm and crawls as quickly as she possibly can back to Emma, practically throwing it into her lap and spilling a good deal of the older woman’s drink in the process.

Elsa stares in apprehension— that wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She can hardly see this ending in any kind of a reward.

To her surprise though, Emma starts laughing. It’s a contained laugh, but it’s genuine, making her eyes crinkle as she wipes the spilled drink from herself.

“I’m really sorry Emma—“ Elsa begins.

Emma interrupts her, taking her chin in her hand and setting the glass aside. “I told you to bring me the rope in thirty seconds or less, that’s all,” she says warmly. “You got it here in twenty-nine. Points will be deducted for the drink spill, but I don’t see why you can’t have at least a _little_ reward, especially for doing something you hate so much.”

Elsa’s heart soars and she leans forward eagerly without thinking, hoping the reward involves some kind of touch. She almost squeaks in surprise when Emma actually leans forward to meet her, ghosting her lips against Elsa’s.

Elsa’s eyes widen and she tries to press in for more, but Emma pulls away, only allowing her that slight, brief bit of contact. 

“That’s it for now, Els,” the older woman tells her with a small smirk. “There might have been more if only you hadn’t spilled my drink.”

Disappointment seeps through her and she barely stops herself from actually _pouting_ , something she hasn’t done since she was four years old.

Emma bites her lip, smiling, and chucks her under the chin. “Cheer up, angel, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to redeem yourself,” she says. She leans forward and hands Elsa the coil of rope. “In fact,” she says confidentially, “if you get this undone, that’d be a good start.”

Elsa wastes no time in working one end loose, beginning to uncoil the whole thing. She feels in a haze from how much she wants to have more of Emma’s lips on hers. Emma never kisses her, never on the mouth. She’s almost as withholding with her kisses as she is even with allowing Elsa to come. She’s made it the most desirable thing to Elsa in this whole world. Elsa would do anything, _anything_ , to have Emma kiss her. To think she just got so close…

“That’s enough, I think,” Emma says, taking the coil from her. She looks her over for a moment, then waves her hand slightly and Elsa feels the clothes disappear from her body. She’s gotten used to it by now— Emma rarely has interest in taking the time to rid her of her clothes in the normal way.

Emma is getting to her feet, Elsa realizes, and stepping around to crouch down behind her. She pulls Elsa’s hands around behind her back and leans forward, taking Elsa’s earlobe gently between her teeth.

“Stage Three,” she murmurs, and Elsa feels her begin to wind the rope around her wrists.

Elsa relaxes into it. At this point, she’s no stranger to being tied up. The first few times, it set her completely on edge, but Emma has conditioned her well.

Only…this time, Emma is continuing to wind the rope slowly up the length of her arm. And then across to the other arm. She whines involuntarily as she feels it snake up around her neck, and then down between her breasts until it drops to her waist, where Emma winds it around yet again. From there, Emma brings it between Elsa’s legs, back under the bit of rope around her waist, and then down again around her thigh, to her ankle, to her other ankle, up around the second thigh, to be tied off finally at the waist.

Elsa can barely move an inch. Can barely breathe.

She feels Emma get to her feet behind her, and for once Elsa actually doesn’t feel that chill of emptiness as Emma separates from her, so tight are the ropes around her. It almost feels as if Emma is still holding her, tightly, possessively, really making her her own.

She does her best to look up as Emma circles around to her front, feeling the rope constrict around her throat as she does. Suddenly it feels less like being held tight, and more like she’s being choked in a way she can’t escape from. Her pulse starts to pick up slightly in panic until Emma stands in front of her and begins taking off her own clothes.

When she’s done, she sits back down on the couch, reaching out to cup Elsa’s face. She looks at her searchingly, and then something in her gaze becomes simultaneously darker, and softer.

“You look so beautiful like this,” she says, voice strangely hushed. Her thumb strokes at Elsa’s cheek and she scoots forward to the edge of the couch, spreading her legs wide. Her hand slides back and tightens in Elsa’s hair. “I want you to make me come,” she murmurs.

Elsa tries to wriggle her hands free behind her, but they’re bound tight. Her knees are already in shooting pain from having been on them so long, and the rope is digging into her skin, muscles beginning to ache.

“I can’t…get my hands free…” she says, straining.

Emma bites her lip against a smile. “Not with your fingers, Els,” she says, laughing a little. She brushes her thumb softly against Elsa’s lips.

“…Oh,” Elsa says, realization dawning on her. She blushes. “But I don’t…” Emma has never had her do this before. She always has Elsa use her fingers, or else she gets on top of her and grinds herself down to completion, preferring the exertion and the dominance it allows her.

“…I don’t know how,” Elsa says quietly, feeling ashamed, even though it should be obvious.

Emma leans back, exposing herself further, and smiles. “Better figure it out fast,” she says. “You’ve got about ten minutes until I start getting impatient, and you know I don’t like it when people make me impatient.”

“Ten minutes?” Elsa echoes uncertainly. “But…”

“You’ll do fine, Elsa,” Emma says confidently. “Relax. Enjoy. If you’re able to make me come in ten minutes, we’ll get you out of those ropes and go over today’s lesson and what you learned. If you get _that_ right, then you’ll have a choice between two rewards— and they’re good ones. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“And what—“ Elsa barely remembers to stop herself from asking another question.

Emma smiles proudly. “You can go ahead and ask,” she allows. “You’ve been good today.”

“What happens if I _don’t_ make you come in ten minutes?” Elsa asks tentatively.

“Let’s see,” Emma muses, looking her over. “I think I’ll have you stay just like this for the next hour or so.”

Elsa swallows. She’s already in so much pain; she can’t imagine a straight _hour_ of being tied up like this.

“So we’re all clear on everything?” Emma asks.

Elsa nods, still unsure of herself.

“Good girl,” Emma croons. “Come here.”

Elsa leans forward as much as she can, taking a moment to brush her lips against Emma’s inner thigh before turning her head and nuzzling in close so she can flick her tongue out tentatively against her.

Emma groans the second Elsa’s tongue licks against her, and Elsa hears herself chirp involuntarily at the response. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all?

Feeling a bit more confident, she presses in further to lick up the entire length of Emma’s slit, ending with an extra flick against her clit. Emma hisses and spreads her legs wider, pulling Elsa in closer by the hair.

Elsa whimpers as she feels the rope constrict against her neck again, pulling just tightly enough to take her breath away for just a moment. The feeling causes a rush of pleasure to shoot through her, and she strains against it for just a little more pressure. The last thing she would ever expect to enjoy is the feeling of not being able to breathe as well, but she _loves_ it, and presses in even further to lap at Emma’s soaking wet center.

The taste is sharp and overwhelming and Elsa moans almost more than Emma does, wishing she could stay this way forever, rope constricting around her throat, Emma in her mouth, fingers twisting in her hair. Emma’s moans above her are deep and guttural, and the slower Elsa goes, the more Emma shoves herself against Elsa’s face.

Just when Elsa thinks she’s about to pass out from how little air she’s getting and how much pleasure she’s feeling, Emma’s thighs clench hard around her head and the older woman shouts out _“Fuck_ , Elsa!” and dissolves into a mess of satisfied moans, body going limp.

Elsa pulls away from her as much as her bindings allow, the haze of pleasure in her head clearing slightly so that she can think straight. She looks up at Emma who’s still panting, glancing at something behind Elsa’s head.

“Eight minutes,” she pants with a smile. “Nicely done, Elsa.”

Elsa wants to crawl onto her lap and curl up against her and nuzzle into her neck and kiss her and just _touch_ her, but all of a sudden the reality of her bonds comes crashing down on her and she realizes she can’t move at all and her knees and muscles are in searing pain. Not to mention the fact that she’s fairly certain the skin on her neck has been rubbed raw from how hard she was straining against the rope.

“You’d like me to remove all that rope from you, wouldn’t you, Els,” Emma guesses, looking down at her fondly.

Elsa nods eagerly. “Please.”

“Tell you what I’m going to do,” Emma says. “I’m going to loosen one part of the rope, though I’m not going to tell you which part it is. And then I want you to get yourself free.”

“But you said…”

“I said we’d get you out of those ropes,” Emma interrupts with a small smile. _“We._ I want you to work for it a little. That’s Stage Four of our lesson. Final stage, I promise.”

Elsa feels drained, but she nods, surrendering.

“Close your eyes,” Emma instructs, and Elsa feels a tug on the rope.

*

After a lot of straining and twisting herself— all of which Emma watches with great intrigue— Elsa is finally able to wriggle herself free from the rope. She very nearly collapses from the sudden loss of its support, and is glad she’s already so close to the ground. Emma mostly catches her anyway, pulling her up onto her lap. Which, comforting as it is, is also pretty painful in itself.

Emma makes a sympathetic clicking sound with her tongue and reaches up to touch the rope mark around Elsa’s neck gingerly. Elsa hisses at the touch but leans in when Emma’s hand goes to her cheek.

“You were exceptionally good all day today,” the older woman praises, looking the most proud Elsa has ever seen her. “You did everything perfectly. Now the last thing I want before I reward you is to go over our lesson, see if you figured it out. So why don’t you tell me about our day.”

“You’re making me talk?” Elsa asks disbelievingly. “Like what I do with you?”

Emma grins. “It’s annoying, isn’t it,” she says, nodding. “But seriously. I want to make sure it’s sunk in.”

Elsa presses her lips together, thinking hard, trying to remember all the stages of the lesson.

“You had me beg those criminals first,” she says carefully.

Emma nods encouragingly.

“And how did that make you feel?”

Elsa thinks about it. “Awful,” she says finally. “Guilty, but also…angry. And frustrated. Because they wouldn’t _listen_ to me, because you said they were superior to me even though they couldn’t do something as simple as listen to me plead with them. It hurt them, it hurt me…I felt…I don’t know…helpless.” She pauses and then says it again. “That’s what I felt. Helpless.”

Emma nods approvingly. “What next?” she asks.

“Stage Two…” Elsa says thoughtfully. “When you made me crawl on the ground.”

“How was that for you?”

“I hated it,” Elsa answers quickly. Then she hesitates. “I hated it at first,” she amends. “But then I…I mean it’s different with you. You made it…I don’t know…fun? And you rewarded me. I didn’t feel so…out of my depth.”

“Good,” Emma says. “What next?”

“Stage Three…when you tied me up,” Elsa says. “At first I…well it was that same feeling of helplessness. But then I ended up liking it, and it wasn’t _really_ helplessness, it was just… _you_ were in control. But I liked it. I uhm…” she tries not to blush, thinking back to what she’d just done. “…I really liked it.”

“And last but not least?” Emma asks, smirking at her last confession.

“Stage Four. You had me get myself out of the ropes.”

“And how was that?” Emma asks.

“Painful at first,” Elsa answers thoughtfully. “But then, when I did it, when I got free…I mean I fell first, but I felt really…triumphant. I felt proud of myself, and…really glad you helped me out at the beginning.”

Emma smiles proudly. “So put that all together,” she encourages. “What did you learn from this?”

Elsa takes a moment to think. She thinks she knows, but she wants to word it right, to really make sense of it.

“When I was with you, I was free,” she says carefully. “I mean, even if I was bound _to_ you, I was still free, I wasn’t helpless. I was yours, but I could still act in my own way. But when I let _them_ , those captives, when I let them control me, I was completely helpless. I couldn’t do anything at all. I let myself be ruled by other people, and it…it left me feeling horrible, and trapped.”

“Perfect score,” Emma says with a smile. “You see what you get when you allow yourself to be controlled by others, even if in your mind you’re trying to help them? They’ll only continue to own you. Perfect strangers will continue to own you, to destroy your faith in yourself. But _I_ can give you freedom from that, Elsa. As long as you belong to me, I can free you from them. And in time, you can learn to free yourself.” She grins. “With my permission, of course.”

Elsa smiles shyly back at her, feeling almost overwhelming warmth toward her, something she isn’t sure she’s felt for a long time.

“So…do I…” she begins hesitantly.

Emma raises her eyebrows cheekily.

“I mean, do I get…do I get a reward?”

“What, all my pearls of wisdom aren’t reward enough?” Emma asks.

Elsa’s face falls. “But you said…”

“Relax, Els, I’m just teasing,” Emma laughs. “Of course you get a reward. You’ve got two choices, so choose carefully. One, I fuck you, however you want, and I actually allow you to come, which…given how long it’s been, I’m guessing you’re pretty desperate for.”

Elsa embarrassingly feels herself clench in anticipation already, just at the thought.

“The second choice,” Emma says, “is that I kiss you. In any way you want, as long as you want.”

Elsa’s lips part in surprise. The ache between her legs is begging her to let Emma fuck her, to let her come finally, _finally_ after being teased for over a week straight.

…But to be kissed, really kissed, and touched in a way that makes her feel loved, beyond just lust, beyond just carnal satisfaction…god, Elsa would do anything for that.

Deciding to let actions speak louder than words, Elsa presses in and catches Emma’s lips with her own, kissing her slow, and deep. She reaches back and undoes the clips holding Emma’s hair back in its severe hold, letting it hang loose in long silvery waves that Elsa runs her fingers through. She draws Emma’s lower lips between her teeth, tugging gently before she lets go, and then presses in for more.

Emma moans softly, tongue flicking slowly out to meet hers. And she’s being so gentle, and so soft, and so sweet and Elsa feels herself melting at the feeling.

Dread sinks through her as she hears the bells in the clocktower chime, letting her know that it’s midnight, but then she remembers— it’s _her_ day now, she could continue this, she could even order Emma to fuck her, to let her come, finally. She hasn’t…she _never_ lets anything become sexual between the two of them on her day, because it’s one of the few controls she has over Emma, is to deny her any kind of sexual gratification. Coldness is her only weapon.

But Emma has presented her with this wonderful gift, where she’s able to kiss her _and_ get the satisfaction she needs, and that can’t just be a coincidence.

She pulls back on the last chime, looking at Emma searchingly.

“Do you love me?” she asks.

Emma’s jaw twitches and she looks taken off-guard. “Why are you _asking?”_ she inquires. “It’s your day now, you could just order me to tell you.”

“I’m afraid you’ll refuse,” Elsa admits. “I just want to know…I don’t want to force it out of you. Just…do you love me?”

Emma sighs, looking troubled. She runs her hand up Elsa’s thigh, stroking the inside where the three symbols she carved into Elsa are. Elsa can tell she doesn’t want to answer, and something sinks in the pit of her stomach. She looks away, embarrassed.

“Of course I love you, Elsa,” Emma murmurs.

Elsa’s eyes snap to hers, unsure if she heard right.

“What did you…?”

“Do you think I would go to all this trouble if I didn’t?” Emma asks, looking frustrated. “Of _course_ I love you. And it…pisses me off to no end, but I do, I love you. Like…fuck it, you’re…yes. I love you.”

Elsa bites her lip, fighting down a sob, because that was Emma. It may have been the Dark One too, but that clumsy delivery, that was Emma and no one can convince Elsa otherwise.

“Well I love you too,” she says, and leans in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? There can be a little fluff amongst all the angst sometimes. Even Dark Ones need love. Thanks as always you guys. See you next chapter!


	11. 11

A few days later, when they’ve reached the beginning of the second week and it’s Elsa’s day once again, she finally works up the courage to ask.

“Is that why you never kiss me, because you love me?” she asks. They’re lying in bed upstairs, still a little sweat-slicked and legs tangled, Elsa absently tracing Emma’s jaw.

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Why would that make a difference?”

“Because maybe you’re afraid of…well didn’t you say true love’s kiss is supposed to break all spells?” Elsa asks, suddenly embarrassed that she’s asking. Emma said she _loves_ her, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s…whatever this higher, grander _true love_ is. “Maybe you’re afraid if you kiss me you’ll lose your power as the Dark One.”

“First of all, I’m not _afraid_ of anything, let’s get that one thing straight,” Emma says, looking suddenly a little irritated. “And anyway, true love’s kiss is a trick. A loophole created so that spells could be undone. _Spells_. But this isn’t a spell, Elsa, it’s just me. When are you going to get that?”

“Then why don’t you kiss me? Why are you always so reluctant?”

“I think I just spent a long time kissing you,” Emma says, cocking an eyebrow that’s either amused or annoyed and Elsa honestly can’t tell which one it is. “Among other things.”

“Because I told you to,” Elsa says. “You never instigate. You only do it if it’s an order.”

Emma stretches lazily against her, burying her head into Elsa’s neck. “Mmm, I give you mind-blowing sex and in return you make me _talk_ to you,” she complains. “I feel so used.”

Elsa smiles. “I just want to know,” she says, running her fingers through the older woman’s sweat-dampened hair.

Emma lifts her head back up, rolling her eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you I love you, now you’re all needy,” she grumbles. Her tone is light though, like she’s just trying to bait Elsa, not really hurt her.

“I’m serious, Emma,” Elsa says. “Why don’t you ever kiss me?”

“Why do _you_ keep asking _questions_ even when it’s your day?” Emma returns. _“Order_ me to answer if it’s that important to you. I’m not going to do what you want me to do just because you want me to do it. I do love you Elsa, but don’t mistake that for softness. That’s not how this works.”

“I don’t want to order you to do things,” Elsa says. “I just want you to answer me because that _is_ how this works. You can’t control me completely, you can’t make me control you. I just want to know. Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

Emma shakes her head, exhaling with frustration. “If you’re not going to order me, I have no obligation to answer,” she says. “And I’m not sure I like this bolder side of you.”

“It’s my day, I can be as bold as I want.”

“Fine, add that to the list of reasons you’ll be punished tomorrow,” Emma says, sounding extremely irritated. 

“Emma, will you stop treating this like all it is is part of the game?” Elsa asks, frustration easily matching hers. “I legitimately want to know.”

“And I legitimately don’t want to tell you,” Emma returns. “And I legitimately will punish you tomorrow, because that’s _actually_ how this works.”

They’re at an impasse, and not just when it comes to this argument. In some ways, Elsa thinks Emma is right— she really _shouldn’t_ have told Elsa she loves her, because it’s given Elsa a little sliver of hope, something she can hold onto even when Emma’s punishments are particularly severe.

It’s been days now since Elsa has even considered losing. Where before she thought there was no chance, and that losing may not be so bad after all, she feels like she has just the slightest shadow of a chance now. 

At the same time, Emma seems as dark as she ever did before. After her slip-up of tenderness, she’s redoubled her efforts to bend Elsa to her way of thinking. Emma Swan the Savior seems to have disappeared again and all Elsa has seen since has been the Dark One.

Emma keeps telling her not to mistake love for softness, well Elsa can say the same thing. Emma is just as dark as ever, and Elsa just as light, but both of them have reached an equal level of determination ever since that frustrated mistake of an “I love you,” that one fleeting but honest break from their game.

At this point, Elsa isn’t sure who’s losing anymore, she thinks they’ve both become an even match of soft and hard, tenderness and control, submission and domination. In some ways, Elsa isn’t sure they’d even be _able_ to exist without each other, exist outside the game.

She sits up abruptly, something sparking in her mind.

“Something I said?” Emma drawls, raising her eyebrows.

“No, I just…” Elsa looks around for where her clothes might be. “I have to go out for a moment.”

Emma’s eyes narrow. “Always my favorite words to hear,” she deadpans.

“I just need to talk to…Ruby,” Elsa says quickly, getting up and finding a pair of jeans to pull on. Her stomach flutters uncomfortably. That’s the first lie she’s ever told Emma. “I promise I won’t be long.”

Emma props herself up on her elbow, watching her get dressed. “I don’t _love_ that you’re still in contact with her,” she says blandly.

Elsa shoots her an amused glance. _“Now_ who’s being needy?” she asks.

“I’m not needy,” Emma says, lifting a warning eyebrow. “But I don’t like sharing you. With anyone.”

She leans forward and catches Elsa’s wrist, pulling her back onto the bed, pinning her down and kissing her.

“See?” she says, pulling away slightly. “I kiss you.”

“To get me to stay,” Elsa points out. “That’s not a kiss, that’s a manipulation.”

Emma sighs. “You’re only hurting yourself more for tomorrow,” she warns. “All your little reports back to Regina and Ruby aren’t exactly the best way to bring out my sweeter side.”

“I’m not reporting to them,” Elsa says. “I just…I have a question.”

Emma lifts an eyebrow. “You have a lot of those,” she comments.

“I’m a very curious person.”

Emma gazes down at her for a long time. “Just don’t forget who you belong to,” she says finally.

“I would never forget that, Emma.”

*

Ruby answers the door at Regina’s vault.

“Hey, you’re back!” she exclaims, smiling excitedly. “It’s been…what, like two weeks or something since I saw you last? I’ve missed you!”

Not for the first time, Elsa thinks that, while Ruby may turn into a wolf, she acts quite a bit more like an over-sized puppy.

“I’m sorry if it made you worry,” Elsa says. “I’ve just been…”

“I know, I know,” Ruby says, waving her hand, “stuck in your weird mysterious game thing. Are you looking for Regina?”

“Actually, I’m…looking for Mr. Gold,” Elsa says cautiously. “Is he here?”

Ruby cocks her head in surprise. “Yeah, he’s here,” she says, sounding a little puzzled. “He and Regina are kind of caught up in something right now though if you wanna wait with me till they’re done?”

“That’s fine,” Elsa says, and follows her further into the vault, finding a place to sit down beside her.

“So what are Regina and Mr. Gold caught up in?” Elsa asks once they’ve settled in.

“Oh—“ Ruby shifts uncomfortably. “Well they’re kind of…talking about Emma. What to do with her.”

“I thought _I_ was what to do with her,” Elsa says, brow creasing. 

“Well that’s…part of what they’re talking about too,” Ruby tells her hesitantly. “I told you last time that Regina has sort of a plan to get the best of Emma and get her under control if you fail? Well, _she’s_ willing to wait to see how your game pans out, but Mr. Gold sort of…”

“He doesn’t believe I can do it,” Elsa finishes for her.

“He just wants what’s best for Henry and Belle,” Ruby says as gently as she can. “I mean…personally, I kinda think he’s a prick, but, y’know. I get where he’s coming from.”

“So you’re saying he wants Regina to act on whatever her plan is sooner than later,” Elsa infers.

“He wants her to enact it as soon as possible, yeah,” Ruby says, nodding. “He’d have her do it now if he could. Regina’s holding her ground though. In spite of everything, she’s trying to give Emma every chance she can. So of course they argue about it every minute of every day. I don’t totally love having wolf hearing— even when they’re in another room I never get a break from all their little snipes at each other.”

Elsa smiles sympathetically. Then she bites her lip. “Do you,” she begins, then hesitates. “Do _you_ know what Regina’s plan is?”

Ruby angles her jaw, looking a little cautious. “I can’t tell you that, Elsa,” she says. Her tone is still gentle, but it has a little bit of warning to it too, something Elsa hasn’t heard in it before. “I want to help you, I want to be your friend, but I’m not going to tell you something that could put Regina at risk.”

“No, I wouldn’t ask you to—“

“My loyalties are with Regina,” Ruby says firmly. “If she wants to tell you, then that’s fine, but I can’t be the one who does.” She suddenly looks a little ashamed, her tail would be drooping if she had one. “Are we still friends?” she asks carefully.

Definitely not a wolf. Absolutely a puppy.

“Of course we’re still friends,” Elsa assures her. Now _she_ feels guilty. She should have known Ruby would never tell her something like that, she shouldn’t have tried to use their friendship as a way of getting information. Even if it was to protect Emma.

“So what’s uhm…” Ruby motions to her neck, “is that _rope mark?”_

“I…yes,” Elsa confesses, embarrassed because she had forgotten that of course it would still be visible. It isn’t painful anymore, but it’s still bruised and is only just now beginning to fade. She isn’t looking forward to the inevitable taunts she’ll get from Regina for it.

“Wow. Kinky,” Ruby says with a little smile. “Should’ve guessed Dark Ones would be into that kind of stuff.”

“She’s certainly… _creative_ …with her methods,” Elsa offers. 

“I’ll say,” Ruby agrees. “Just as long as she’s not hurting you _too_ much.”

Elsa tries not to laugh. As long as Emma isn’t _hurting her too much?_ Of course not, she’s just been marked with a knife, tied up, strangled, made to grovel, made to humiliate herself, made to watch people tortured, bullied, spanked, branded (that was yesterday, her ass is still in an incredible amount of pain)…but no, certainly Emma isn’t _hurting her too much._

“…and that is _specifically_ why I won’t go through with it right now, Gold!” comes Regina’s voice loudly from the room beyond and the door swings open as the former Evil Queen storms out, followed closely by Mr. Gold who begins to snap back at her before his eyes fall on Elsa.

The two of them halt abruptly, silencing as they take in Elsa’s presence.

“Well well, Your Majesty, what a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Gold says smoothly. “Have you been given the day off, or have you just finally grown tired of the way the Dark One has been treating you?”

“I came to see you, actually,” Elsa says firmly, standing to her full height. She’s just slightly taller than him, letting her feel at least a little less intimidated. 

He looks surprised for a split second before quickly masking it with faint amusement. He motions back to the room he and Regina just came out of. “Right this way then, it’d be my pleasure,” he says.

Elsa begins to stride forward, but Regina catches her arm.

“Actually, I’d like a word with you first, Elsa,” she says, then shoots a cold look at Mr. Gold. “If you don’t mind.” The last part comes out as a growl.

Mr. Gold smiles. “Of course not, take your time,” he says graciously.

Surprised, and not sure what else to do, Elsa follows Regina outside. The older woman sits herself down on a bench outside her vault, motioning for Elsa to join her.

“That’s quite a mark,” she comments once Elsa sits as well, glancing down at her neck.

Elsa waits for the follow-up taunt, but it doesn’t come. Regina is just looking at her neck pointedly.

Elsa’s hand goes self-consciously to the mark. “It’s just…” she begins.

“I know what it is, dear, I trained my fair share of slaves back in the old days,” Regina interrupts.

“Emma isn’t training me to…be her slave,” Elsa says.

“I’m fairly certain she is,” Regina disagrees lightly. “I believe she’s afraid she’ll lose you if she doesn’t.”

“Emma isn’t afraid of anything.”

“She’s afraid of loneliness,” Regina says. “You said so yourself, back before this game of yours started. I’d imagine she’s gotten quite attached to you by now— although, given the fact that you’re _here_ talking to _me_ , she can’t have you _that_ well-trained. I’m sure that fact is very troubling to her.”

“You’re acting like you think she’s afraid of _me,”_ Elsa says uncertainly.

“I think she is, in some ways. I think she’s afraid of what you might take from her.”

“I’m not taking anything from her…”

“She hasn’t managed to break you yet,” Regina interrupts. “The mere fact that you’re here with me is proof enough of that. That means you still have a chance at winning, which means you wouldn’t be strictly _hers_ the way she wants you. If she loses, she loses you. She loses control over you. I would imagine she’s _extremely_ afraid of that.”

Her gaze falls again to Elsa’s neck. “I can heal that for you if you like,” she offers off-handedly.

“No, I—“ Elsa isn’t sure what to say. It would be bad, of course, if Emma noticed it had been healed, just one more excuse for her to punish Elsa tomorrow. But more than that, Elsa isn’t sure she’s ready to say goodbye to this particular mark. Emma had been so proud of her when she received it; she got it on the same day Emma told her she loves her.

Regina looks at her closely, apparently reading into her silence.

“Elsa listen to me,” she says with uncharacteristic hesitance. “It was difficult enough for _me_ , as someone already used to the darkness, to swim in dark waters. I can’t imagine what it’s like for someone like you. When you first came here, I offered to send you home if it was too much. My offer still stands. You have a way out of this, Elsa, you’re not trapped.”

Elsa is surprised by the re-occurrence of the offer, wondering why Regina would choose to repeat it now. But she decides to ignore it, shaking her head. “I don’t feel trapped,” she says. “I chose to be here, and to see this game through. I’m not going to abandon her. And I…” 

She cuts herself off, forcing herself not to blush.

Regina raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“…Well I _enjoy_ it sometimes,” she confesses awkwardly.

“Of course you do, dear, everyone enjoys a _bit_ of darkness,” Regina says as if Elsa just told her the sky is blue. “Particularly when the person you love most is the one drawing you into it. Everyone. Has. Darkness. In them. And it’s our responsibility to keep the darkness in ourselves from hurting others, which I learned…well, through Emma. But Emma is no longer capable of doing that for herself, and it isn’t right that that task has fallen to you. You shouldn’t have to hold yourself responsible for her actions, that isn’t fair, or right. _That’s_ what I mean when I say she will destroy you. She may care for you, as dearly as any Dark One can care for anything, but you’ve taken on the impossible job of being her conscience. Of bearing the guilt she no longer has. You’ve taken on the responsibility of feeling what she _should_ feel, and it’s not your responsibility to do that. It will rip you apart, Elsa, I promise you.”

Elsa chews on her lip for a moment.

“Ruby says you have a plan in case I fail,” she says, changing the subject because she needs to escape the nervous twist in her gut.

Regina rolls her eyes. _“Ruby_ is a little too friendly,” she mutters, but she doesn’t seem all that angry. “I do have a plan,” she admits, “though I don’t think it would benefit you— or me— to tell you what it is. Particularly because you tend to be a little wishy-washy as far as where your loyalties lie.”

“I’m still fully committed to what you and I are trying to do.“

Regina gives her a patient, mirthless smile. “I doubt you’re _fully_ committed,” she says. “Emma may not have you fully trained, but she’s had your heart since the two of you first met. That’s almost as good as enslavement, and it does put a slight dent in my ability to trust you.”

Elsa finds she doesn’t have a good response to that so she turns her head back to the vault.

“I should go speak to Mr. Gold,” she says. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Regina catches her arm before she can stand fully.

“Consider my offer,” the older woman says seriously, something slightly more urgent coloring her voice. “About sending you home. I can still do that for you. You have only to let me know.”

*

“So,” Mr. Gold says, sitting himself down across from Elsa in one of the rooms much deeper into the vault. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Elsa braces herself. “I want to know about transference,” she says.

Mr. Gold looks at her placidly. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, dearie,” he tells her.

“At the beginning of our game, Emma marked me,” Elsa tells him, already feeling heat creep at the back of her neck in embarrassment. “She used the dagger. She carved three symbols into me— an encircled star, an eye, and a sun.”

Mr. Gold suddenly looks more interested, one eyebrow quirking up.

“She said that as she was doing it, there was some sort of transference that happened,” Elsa continues carefully. “She said that she didn’t intend for it to happen, but there was some small amount of darkness that trickled into me.”

“And did you feel the effects of that yourself?” Mr. Gold asks, now fully invested in what she’s saying.

“Only slightly,” she answers. “It was only a very small amount, and temporary, but it made me more powerful, and— quicker to anger, I think. It made me try to control her, in a way I wouldn’t have otherwise. I felt a little bit of that freedom she always talks about, that carelessness towards consequences.

“More importantly though,” she goes on, “is what it did to _her._ She told me it tired her out, that she actually needed sleep, for a short time anyway. And I was under the impression that the Dark One doesn’t need to sleep.”

“That’s correct,” Mr. Gold says, nodding. He stares ahead, thoughtfully. “So what is it, specifically, about this phenomenon that you would like to know from me?”

“I want to know if there’s a way to make it permanent,” Elsa says, “if there’s a way to split the darkness evenly between us. We’d be half and half, able to control ourselves.”

“That, or we’d end up with _two_ Dark Ones on our hands,” Mr. Gold says, “which I consider rather a step backward than forward.”

“But if it could be _split,”_ Elsa says again. “If we could share it between us, wouldn’t that, I don’t know, dilute it? We’d balance each other out— _ourselves_ out— half dark, half light— both of us. Enough light to keep our impulses under control, but enough dark to anchor what’s in the dagger.”

Mr. Gold seems to mull that over, clasping his hands underneath his chin in thought.

“It would be quite the risk,” he says. “How to make it permanent, for one. Not to mention, how you would get Emma to share her power with you in the first place. From what I gather, she seeks to break you for herself, not raise you up to her level. Besides that, there’s every chance that that kind of transference would destroy you…”

“Suddenly everyone’s so concerned I’ll be _destroyed,”_ Elsa says, annoyed. “You, Regina, Ruby…even Emma, in her way. Why is it so important for all of you to believe I’m this fragile, incapable thing? I’ve survived this long, and I haven’t given up yet.”

“But you’ve been tempted,” Mr. Gold guesses slyly.

“From what I hear, so were you,” Elsa snaps. “I seem to remember several times when you chose your own power over Belle, that you were tempted, and that you gave in.”

Mr. Gold clicks his tongue admonishingly. “Careful, dearie, meanness doesn’t suit you,” he chastises.

“I just want to know,” Elsa sighs, trying not to show her frustration. “I think it _can_ be split given what it did to Emma, but I need your help in order to do it. You were the Dark One before her. You have to have _some_ idea.”

“I have my theories,” he says noncommittally. “Though I’m not sure it behooves me to tell you.”

“It _should,”_ Elsa says, confused. “If it helps bring Emma back, if it helps get rid of the Dark One— at least the threat she poses to you— it absolutely _behooves_ you.”

Mr. Gold looks at her coolly, like he’s sizing her up.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he says finally.

“Don’t bother,” Elsa sighs, standing in defeat. “I don’t have time to wait for you to make up your mind and it’s the only plan I have left. If you’re not going to help me, I’ll ask Regina. At least she still has her magic, maybe together we can figure out some way to split it.”

“You’re expecting Regina to _help_ you?” Mr. Gold asks as if she’s just told him a very funny joke. 

“Why wouldn’t she, she’s offered to help me as much as she can—“

“I gather she hasn’t let you in on her plan,” Mr. Gold interrupts. 

Elsa tenses at his tone, suddenly not sure she wants to know what it is anymore.

“I won’t give the whole game away, but I’ll give you a hint,” Mr. Gold tells her, smiling. “It involves the destruction of Miss Swan’s greatest weakness.”

“The dagger,” Elsa says with some confusion. She isn’t sure how Regina plans to get her hands on it—

“No no not the _dagger,”_   he scolds. “Not anymore, anyway.”

“What then?” Elsa asks, afraid she already knows the answer.

Mr. Gold leans forward on his cane, gaze trailing slowly over her body before lifting lazily back to her eyes. “What do you _think?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright just to be clear, I thought up the whole “two Dark Ones” line from Mr. Gold before they aired that whole storyline with Hook, and I really didn’t want to rewrite what I had already, so…I promise that line wasn’t just a lazy knock-off of the show. Just needed to protect my sense of pride there :) Alright, thanks as always, see you next time!


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not respond to a single one of your comments last time. And then I abandoned you for almost a month. I am a huge asshole. A huge. Ass. Hole. As an apology I'm going to be posting these last few chapters in pretty quick succession so you don't have to wait years and years for an update.

So _that’s_ why Regina repeated her offer to send Elsa home. She was trying to give Elsa one last chance to get out before she enacted her plan to rein Emma in. One last chance to keep from having to _kill_ Elsa.

Or maybe removing Elsa from Storybrooke _is_ the plan. Maybe _that_ was the manipulation. She isn’t sure, and Mr. Gold certainly won’t tell her.

Elsa tries to exit the vault in as dignified a way as she can, trying not to stumble as her head reels from Mr. Gold’s claim. Both Regina and Ruby are suspiciously absent, probably knowing Mr. Gold would let the plan slip, probably unwilling to face Elsa.

Ruby. It hurts most of all that _Ruby_ knew and wouldn’t tell her.

But much as she hates to admit it, this _is_ a war, and Ruby made her choice. She chose the people she loves over Elsa, Elsa can’t condemn her for that. And in some ways, Ruby _did_ try to warn her— not explicitly, but she had hinted, tried her best to tell her that Regina’s desperation meant that there would be casualties. She just didn’t mention that Elsa specifically would be one of those casualties.

Elsa can’t imagine exactly _how_ Regina plans to use her or her “destruction” against Emma—what exactly that could mean. Either way, Elsa is afraid to turn to her for help, or Ruby for comfort.

The only silver lining of this visit is that she knows for certain that Regina is still giving her time; she _wants_ Elsa to be successful, is willingly giving her until the end of the game before she acts. That is, so long as she’s able to keep Mr. Gold at bay. So long as Mr. Gold doesn’t take things into his own hands.

She isn’t sure whether she should tell Emma. The older woman would snap, she knows that. And probably kill Regina, Gold, and Ruby all in one fell swoop without a thought. Elsa gets the feeling that Emma has only allowed Regina to last this long because Regina _did_ raise her son, and _was_ at one point, an important person in her life— but if she were to learn of this new development, she probably wouldn’t hesitate to put an end to all three of them. And Elsa doesn’t want that.

But on the other hand…Regina’s plan feels like a horrible betrayal to Elsa. This isn’t what she signed up for— this isn’t what Regina had promised her…safety and a way home if she needed it. In the beginning, all Regina had wanted her to do was get the dagger from Emma and bring it back to her so the Dark One could be controlled. Now it just seems like things have escalated far out of hand— it _is_ a war now, and Elsa’s the weapon…or maybe Elsa always _was_ the weapon, maybe this was always the plan for her.

But most horrible of all…part of Elsa _glows_ at the idea that she could ever be a _weakness_ to Emma. She doesn’t want to be— she doesn’t want to ever be anything that could hurt Emma. But the fantasy of being _so important_ to Emma that she could possibly be considered a weakness, possibly be considered something as dear to the older woman as the dagger— even more so— the selfish side of Elsa can’t help but yearn for that more than anything in the world.

But she doesn’t dare to hope that it’s actually true. Emma may love her, just like she claimed, but _weakness_ is another thing all together. Emma can’t have any weaknesses, especially not now. Especially when it could destroy her— especially when it could employ _Elsa_ to destroy her.

Elsa presses her lips together, fighting back tears, because not only is Emma suddenly in peril, this is also the most _alone_ Elsa has ever felt.

She shivers against the wind, not so much against the cold of it, as the reminder of emptiness in her, and makes her way back to the loft.

*

Emma is lounging back idly on the couch when Elsa gets back, rotating the dagger on the tip of her finger. She looks up as Elsa closes the door behind her, and stands to go greet her, looking like she’s about to do her usual “greeting” of pushing her back against the wall and going after her neck with her teeth.

Before she can, Elsa strides forward and throws her arms around her, holding her close. 

Emma stiffens in surprise, hands falling hesitantly to her waist.

“You okay?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

Elsa shakes her head into Emma’s neck, realizing she has tears gathering in her eyes. She’s barely keeping her powers in check, fear flooding through her as she grips Emma tighter.

“Elsa…” Emma tries to pull her away so she can hold her at arm’s length and actually look at her, but Elsa just clings to her harder.

“Just hold onto me,” Elsa tells her, voice breaking.

She knows Emma has to be confused still, but the older woman obeys, sliding her arms around her waist and holding her tight.

“What happened, are you hurt?” Emma murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Elsa’s head.

Emma had held her like this, talked to her like this, before their game started. Back when Elsa had been attacked, back when Emma had removed all that glass from her. Back before she was trying to own her, or teach her, or break her. Back when she had begged her to stay in Storybrooke with her, that very first time.

Emma told her once that she wouldn’t be weak for her, not even for the sake of their game. It had been worth a refusal to her even. Now Elsa’s pretty sure the older woman has had at least some level of weakness for her this entire time, and was trying to deny it by toying with her. Even Regina had recognized it— she’d recognized it even before Elsa or Emma had. She’d recognized it as soon as Elsa had told her Emma wanted to make it a game, not a deal. _She’s put herself on the line here, not just you,_ Regina had said. _She’s given herself something to lose._ _It’s not something I would have expected._

“I’m not hurt,” Elsa answers finally into Emma’s neck. Not exactly true.

“Good,” Emma says gently. “Because you know no one’s allowed to hurt you but me. That’s just another perk you get from belonging to me.”

Elsa can tell she’s trying to tease her, but the words ring painfully true and it just fills her with an incredible sense of want that goes far beyond the barriers of their game.

“Remind me,” she says pleadingly.

“Remind you of what, Els?”

“Remind me I belong to you.”

Emma finally manages to pull away just enough so that she can look at Elsa. Her hands come up to cup her face and her thumbs brush away what tears have escaped. For the first time in a long time, she actually looks serious, not about to crack a joke, not about to try to make Elsa feel worse than she does already. She really _is_ protective of Elsa when she thinks someone else has hurt her.

“How would you like me to remind you?” she asks, voice soft. 

“You marked me once,” Elsa tells her. “I want you to do it again.”

She doesn’t even want it because of what she told Mr. Gold. She just honestly wants to be marked, she honestly wants Emma’s inscription all over her. One more mark won’t split Emma’s power anyway, she doesn’t care about that right now. She just wants more proof that she’s Emma’s and no one else’s, and no one— not Regina, not Mr. Gold, not even Ruby— can take that from her, no matter what.

Emma is frowning at her. “I told you last time I marked you I didn’t want to do it again,” she says. “It makes me feel weak, I don’t like what it does to me.”

“Please, Emma,” Elsa begs, feeling more tears fall. “I could order you to, but I don’t want to, I don’t want it to just be part of our game, just…please don’t make me order you.”

Emma gazes down at her for a moment before pulling her back in and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Upstairs, then,” she says. “I want more room.”

Elsa almost goes limp with relief, but takes her hand instead, beginning to pull her gently upstairs.

*

Once they reach the edge of the bed, Elsa turns around to face her, pulling her shirt off over her head before reaching down to undo the fly of her jeans. The last time they did this, Emma had ordered her to take that flimsy rag of a dress off, ordered her to sit down, ordered her legs open. Now Elsa is laying herself bare, by choice, submitting all on her own. It just feels right to her. She lays back on the bed, reaching for Emma who immediately joins her, kneeling over her with dagger in hand.

“Where do you want it?” the older woman asks, beginning to drift the point of the blade feather-light down her chest.

Elsa’s breath is already hitching and she doesn’t answer, just letting Emma search for the right place herself. The older woman keeps her eyes trained to Elsa’s face as she drifts the dagger down over her ribs, across her stomach…

Elsa hisses when the blade brushes over her hipbone and Emma pauses there, looking back up into her eyes, reading her as she trails it back down over it again.

Elsa whimpers involuntarily, hand reaching forward to grip Emma’s shoulder. The older woman strokes her thumb over the inside of Elsa’s hipbone, eyes locked with hers, breath almost perfectly in synch with Elsa’s.

“This a good place?” she asks.

Elsa nods breathlessly, swallowing a moan when Emma dips her head to kiss the area. Soon warm lips are replaced with the cold point of the dagger and Emma raises up again, kneeling between Elsa’s legs.

It’s not like it was last time. Last time, Elsa could barely wrap her mind around the fact that Emma was carving into her. Last time it was a punishment. This time she’s taking in every detail, becoming simultaneously soothed and more aroused with each shallow curve of the blade. 

And this time, because she’s aware, she actually notices the feeling of darkness flowing into her. Last time, she hadn’t felt a thing, she was so focused on the pain, and the shock of the punishment. This time she’s keenly aware of this small river of heat pooling into the marks Emma’s making, lacing around her own magic, threading through every molecule in her body. She gives herself over to the feeling, flush with the knowledge that Emma is giving this to her, that no one else can touch her, no one can touch Emma, it’s just the two of them against everything else.

Feeling like she’s suddenly overflowing with power, and heat, and desire, she twists her fingers in Emma’s hair, pulling her up into a searing kiss, legs coming up and wrapping around her waist.

Emma kisses back hungrily, pressing down into her, fingers gripping into her thigh. She must have tossed the dagger to the side once Elsa pulled on her.

“You want me to get that cleaned up for you?” she breathes against Elsa’s lips, thumb trailing down just above where the new marks are.

Elsa shakes her head, craning her neck up for another kiss, pulling Emma down against her, lifting her hips to meet hers. She feels so full of _energy_ and _life,_ impatient to have more of Emma’s skin on hers. She tugs on Emma’s black jeans, silently demanding she take them off.

Emma eagerly complies, tossing her shirt and bra off along with them before surging down again, slipping her thigh between Elsa’s legs, giving her something to grind against.

“Emma— harder,” Elsa breathes desperately.

Emma hooks Elsa’s leg around her waist again and picks up pace, the two of them pushing urgently into each other.

Elsa reaches back to grip the headboard of the bed, arching as Emma drags her lips up her throat.

_“Harder_ , Emma,” she begs again.

Emma nips sharply at her neck, driving harder against her, thigh rubbing roughly against her center. Not enough though. Not rough enough, not hard enough, Elsa just keeps craving more, and more, and more…

_“Please_ Emma—“ she gasps lifting her hips up desperately for more contact. “Keep—just— _harder_ , Emma, I need—“

She almost screams when Emma sits up abruptly, emotions roiling so chaotically inside her she thinks she might cry if Emma denies her.

Instead, Emma is reaching for something— the dagger, Elsa realizes— but something is happening to it. Just like in the dream she’d had at the beginning of their game, a smoke-like curl of magic slithers around the dagger, shifting and molding it until it takes on the shape of a large phallus.

Elsa stares, breath shaky as Emma straps it to herself— the harness seems to come from out of nowhere, materializing in twisting rope-like holds around Emma’s hips and thighs. Elsa feels her own thighs part subconsciously as Emma leans forward over her again. She slips her hands up to Emma’s shoulders, suddenly aware that she’s trembling uncontrollably.

“You wanted hard,” Emma murmurs, one eyebrow lifting questioningly, and a little challengingly.

Elsa nods, pulse racing, and she gives out a small whimper as Emma nudges the tip at her entrance.

She squeezes her eyes shut in apprehension, clinging Emma tightly to her. She’s only ever had Emma’s fingers inside her— three at the most— the transformed dagger is much larger and part of her is frantically thinking it won’t fit. Not to mention that it’s that _thing_ , the _dagger_ , the source of everything, how this all began, every hardship it’s wrought.

But at the same time, she needs this, she needs Emma inside her, taking her as hard as she can, with everything she is. What small amount of darkness that transferred to her demands it. She can feel it rushing through her, commanding her to open up for Emma.

So she tightens her hold on Emma, and the older woman pushes the head inside.

Elsa chokes out a cry as Emma slides the transformed dagger slowly inside of her. Her breath comes out in sharp, almost painful gasps, head spinning as it fills her completely, all the way to the base, bumping deep inside her.

_“Emma!”_ she cries out, entire body struggling to comprehend this new intrusion. Emma gives her a moment to try to adjust, but only _just_ a moment. All too soon, she begins to move, pumping it slowly in and out of her. Elsa’s fingers dig hard into the older woman’s shoulders, and she gasps raggedly, hips lifting in a desperate attempt to keep up.

Emma groans above her, head dropping into the crook of Elsa’s neck, as she begins to fuck into her harder, and faster, finding a rhythm that sets Elsa gasping and writhing beneath her.

It’s too hard, it’s _way_ too hard— Elsa feels like she’s barely keeping up with her, barely holding on, hips rocking upward frantically, trying desperately to meet every thrust. But the darkness in her keeps spurring her onward, hungry for _more,_ and _harder,_ and oh _god_ Elsa needs this more than she’s ever needed anything her whole life—

The darkness twists suddenly through her, and she flips them both over with a strength she didn’t know she had, lifting up and then slamming back down on the transformed cock, beginning to ride it wildly, head thrown back. Emma moans sharply beneath her, thrusting up inside her, grabbing her hips to pull her down even harder as Elsa arches back with a cry.

She’s far beyond any sense of pain now— she’s spiraled headlong into a riling storm of pleasure and all she can feel is _Emma Emma Emma_ , that’s all that matters.

She yelps sharply as Emma, apparently unwilling to just _lay back,_ rolls them over again, slipping the head out momentarily before shoving it back in, rutting even harder into her, groaning against her neck. Elsa clutches her tightly— nails, even blunted, having raked deeply into Emma’s skin. Her hands grip strong shoulders, feeling every muscle tighten and release with exertion, sweat dripping down her back. Almost before she’s even registered what’s happening, she hears a rushing in her ears, and all throughout her body, and her inner walls contract almost violently, climax crashing over her. She sinks her teeth deeply into Emma’s shoulder to keep from screaming aloud, the feeling apparently sending Emma hurtling over the edge as well.

The two of them collapse in on each other, panting, skin slick and damp, quivering through the aftershocks. Emma buries her head in the crook of Elsa’s neck for a moment, apparently wrestling control over her breathing before sliding the transformed dagger slowly out from inside her, pulling it and the harness off herself to toss haphazardly to the side. The dagger shivers back to its original form and she rolls over onto her back, out of breath.

“So,” she pants, still coming down from her high. “You gonna tell me what the hell that was all about? Not that I’m complaining, but _fuck_ …”

Elsa turns over and curls into Emma’s side, hiding her head in her neck.

“You’re mine,” she says softly.

Emma huffs out a laugh, still sounding out of breath, hand stroking down her back. “Think you’re a little confused about who belongs to who in this equation, Els,” she says.

Elsa shakes her head. “You’re all mine and no one can take you from me,” she says firmly into her neck. “And no one can take _me_ from _you_ either.”

Emma takes a moment to regulate her breathing, fingers drifting idly up and down her spine before she shifts onto her side to look at her.

“Elsa,” she says seriously. “What happened back with Regina? I know this has something to do with that, and you know if you don’t tell me now, I can always get it out of you tomorrow on my day, so—”

“Stop making everything about the stupid _game,”_ Elsa interrupts frustratedly. “ _This_ didn’t have anything to do with the game, I just…” She breaks off, at a loss for what to say. She doesn’t _know_ if she should tell Emma what Gold said about Elsa being Emma’s greatest weakness, about planning to use the destruction of that weakness against her…

“…I just needed to be close to you,” Elsa says finally, running her hand up Emma’s side. “I always need to be close to you. And I need to keep you safe. And I need you to understand…I’m not just doing this to win a stupid game. I’m not trying to…weaken you. Ever. I _never_ want to be a weakness to you. I’ve stayed with you this whole time because I wanted to be something strong for you, however that ends up being. Whether you win, or I win, I just…I never want to be the thing that breaks you down.”

Emma props herself up on her elbow so she can look down at Elsa, tucking her hair behind her ear. She studies her for a moment, fingers tracing lightly at her chin. “What am I going to do with you,” she sighs finally.

Elsa tilts her head curiously up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve put you through hell, and you’re still just as sweet as ever,” Emma says. “I mean you’ve made this entire game impossible because you’re just so… _you_. I always think I’ve gotten something across to you, that I’ve finally taught you something, but you just keep being exactly the way you started. Except even more stubborn, I think.”

She cocks an eyebrow, looking amused.

“I think I’d miss it,” she confesses.

“What would you miss?” Elsa asks.

“You,” Emma says, shifting so she’s more comfortably on top of Elsa. “I’d miss all that…sweet, self-righteous, moral bullshit you believe in so much. Sometimes…every once in a while…I wonder if it’s worth getting rid of all that just to win.”

She rolls her eyes.

“But _then_ I think…you just have no idea what you’re missing,” she says. “You’re so _tentative_ , and _rule-abiding_ and you just don’t have to be that way. You can’t understand _how good it feels_ , not to have to worry about that. Like every weight you’ve ever had to bear is just…gone. You can fucking breathe for once. I honestly think you’d enjoy it. But it’s also so…part of you, to _not_ want that.”

She dips her head and bites Elsa’s collarbone gently.

“You make things very difficult for me sometimes.”

Elsa looks up at her, brow creasing. “If you’re so worried about getting me to not be _rule-abiding_ , then why are you trying so hard to _train me_ or _break me_ or whatever it is?”

“Because once you’re free of the things holding you back, I don’t want you to figure out that you can up and leave me,” Emma says with a smile that looks like she’s trying to tease, but Elsa gets the feeling she’s actually being serious. This may be the most honest conversation they’ve had since the game started.

Elsa lifts up and catches Emma’s lips softly with her own.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmurs. “You don’t _have_ to own me, or train me, or break me, just to keep me. You already have me.”

“And what about you?” Emma asks.

“What about me?”

“Why are _you_ trying to ‘ _own me_ , and _train me_ , and _break me_ just to _keep_ me’?”

“I’m not—“

Emma raises an eyebrow at her.

Elsa fumbles.

“I mean, I’m just—“

Emma stretches against her comfortably. “Mind if I ask you something?”

Elsa nods.

“Sometimes— a lot of times, actually— you _do_ genuinely seem to enjoy what I put you through,” Emma says. “But like I said, I don’t think I’ve managed to really _teach_ you anything beyond what I want in the moment. So what exactly is it that you want from me?”

“I’m trying to…get rid of the darkness in you…bring Emma Swan back…”

Emma shakes her head. “No you’re not,” she disagrees mildly. “I’ve put darkness in you. Twice now. Either of those two times, did you feel like you were no longer yourself?”

Elsa hesitates, then shakes her head.

“You just felt like you could act without consequence,” Emma guesses.

Elsa nods.

“So then you _know_ by now, whether you’ve admitted it to yourself or not, you _know,_ from experience, that what I’ve been saying this whole time is true— there aren’t _two_ separate versions of me in here. There is no ‘Emma Swan’ being swallowed up by the ‘Dark One.’ Just like you didn’t lose yourself when I put darkness in you— you just acted on what you wanted. But you yourself were still fully intact. That’s the same as it is for me.”

“…But you killed people, tortured them,” Elsa protests. “Emma Swan would never have—“

“‘Emma Swan’ _wanted_ to hurt and kill a _lot_ of people,” Emma interrupts. “I was a Savior, Elsa, not a saint. You’re right, without darkness, I never would have _acted_ on those feelings, but they were still there. You had to have known that, even when you first met me. You knew me, remember? Better than anyone else did. You had to have known what I was capable of.”

“But part of what made you so strong was that you _didn’t_ act on those parts of yourself,” Elsa says softly.

Emma shrugs. “I did in a way,” she says mildly. “I did everything I had to in order to protect my family. I would have been more effective at it if I’d had darkness at the time.”

“But now you’ve driven them out of town,” Elsa hazards. “Regina told me you…that your powers got out of hand, that Henry almost ended up getting killed.”

Emma looks down at her, face unreadable for a moment before she sits up, legs over the edge of the bed, body tense.

“That was an accident,” she says finally. “That— I _never_ wanted that.”

Elsa sits up slowly too, bringing her hand carefully up Emma’s spine, pressing a hesitant kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“You drove your family out of town to protect them, didn’t you,” she says softly.

“Don’t turn this into a sob story, Elsa,” Emma warns.

“But that’s the reason, isn’t it?” Elsa presses. “That was the start of when you began chipping away at the town, and making deals with people, and creating all…this.”

“I’ve had fun _creating all this,”_ Emma growls.

“I’m sure you have,” Elsa agrees. “I think you’ve had a _lot_ of fun entertaining yourself with the people here. But I also think you’ve been alone. That’s why you’ve needed entertainment in the first place.”

“My family tried to control me,” Emma tells her stiffly, honestly. _“That’s_ why I tried to steal the dagger back from them, _that’s_ when Henry…got in the way. He could have died because of _them_ , _that’s_ why I drove them away. I wanted to _punish_ them, not _protect_ them.”

“Then why allow them to take Henry?” Elsa asks. “That sounds more like _protecting_ them to me…”

“Elsa,” Emma says sharply, turning to face her. “I wanted them gone, so now they’re gone. Don’t go reading any further into that.”

“Then don’t go reading any further into the fact that sometimes I _like_ what you do to me,” Elsa returns.

“Why _not?_ You’re in this weird state of denial that I can’t figure out—“

“So are you!” Elsa fires back. “It’s like you don’t want to admit the good parts of you are in there…”

“…And _you_ seem to be having a stupidly difficult time reconciling that you like the parts of me that _aren’t_ good,” Emma snaps. “So I’m gonna ask you one last time— what is it that you really want from me?”

Elsa huffs, frustrated with Emma, with herself, with this unbelievable situation she’s gotten herself into.

“I just…I want to know that you’re happy,” Elsa sighs. “You’ve built this world…this really violent, threatening world, and it…it scares me.”

“Well it _comforts_ me,” Emma tells her. “This is what the world really is, Elsa, it’s no different from what it was when you were here last— it’s just that now people are more upfront about it. There’s no frills to hide it. Everything you see is exactly what it actually is, no pretense, no lies. You know how I feel about lies.”

“Your super power,” Elsa murmurs, realizing. “You’ve created a world where people _can’t_ lie to you.”

Emma sets her jaw, looking guarded. “That’s all I’ve ever tried to do with you, Elsa,” she says. “Just trying to get you to stop fucking _lying_ to yourself. Trying to get you to be what you _could_ be, trying to get you to have some fun, really feel free for once. Thing is— I’m starting to think you _honestly_ believe— honestly _are_ — everything you’ve tried to stand for here, all that high and mighty moral goody-two-shoes _shit_. So it confuses me, that you can genuinely be what you say you are, but still have these moments where you seem to fully enjoy what I put you through— only to turn against me the second it’s over.”

Elsa rests her chin on Emma’s shoulder.

“I guess I just…you’re my one indulgence into whatever small amount of darkness I _do_ have,” she says hesitantly. “As long as I’m getting it through you, I like it, I feel like I can lose myself in it. But once it’s over…I don’t know, it’s just over. You’re my darkness. You’re my freedom. Anything beyond that doesn’t feel right to me.”

She looks down self-consciously.

“And I guess, the reason why I’m still here with you,” she goes on carefully, “is because I sort of hoped I could be your light in the same way that you’re my dark. I’m starting to think you’re right, that maybe _neither_ of us is going to be able to completely… _train…_ the other one. I think maybe all we can have is… _moments_ of each other. Just like I get flashes of the Savior from you sometimes, you get flashes of what you want from me sometimes.”

“So you’re saying we’re pretty much caught up in an eternal game here,” Emma drawls, quirking her eyebrow up with a small smile.

“We don’t have to be,” Elsa says. “It doesn’t have to be a game, we could—“ she takes a deep breath, “—we could split it. The darkness in you, I mean. We could share it between us. We could temper each other— at least enough so that Regina would no longer view you as a threat. And maybe, the dagger wouldn’t be able to control you anymore— because you wouldn’t strictly be the Dark One anymore. It’s…I think it’s possible. You could— if you wanted— I think you could have your old life back, but also keep the one you have now.”

Emma gives her a _look_ , one eyebrow lifting. “You know I’ve learned throughout my life that if something _sounds_ too good to be true, it probably is,” she says. “Everything you just said is _very_ idealistic, and _very_ hypothetical. It also sounds like I could lose quite a bit, and I’ve already told you— I like where I am. I don’t actually have any interest in losing a single bit of my power as the Dark One.”

“But if that’s what it takes to keep you safe…”

Emma cocks her head. “What’s this sudden fixation with ‘keeping me safe’?” she asks. “You said that earlier too. Am I in some sort of imminent danger? Because, Els, I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m kind of on the immortal side of things. The only thing that can kill me is that dagger, it’s my one little curse that I’m subject to, but I’m not exactly planning on handing it over to anyone any time soon. Besides, no one actually _wants_ to kill me with it. It would just mean they’d take over being the Dark One. I’m gonna guess, given her history, that Regina doesn’t want that. I think I’m pretty much in the clear here.”

“But if—“ Elsa hesitates. This could be a huge mistake, but she doesn’t think she has a choice. “What if I told you Regina has a plan in place in case I were to lose the game? To get the dagger back from you? And that I’m— unwillingly— part of that plan?”

Emma’s eyes dim to something cold, her face hardening into that unreadable mask from before. “You wanna be a little more specific about that, Elsa?” she asks coldly.

Elsa shakes her head, feeling fear grip her again. “I don’t know specifics. All I know is that Regina thinks I’m a weakness. That I’m _your_ weakness. …And I know that’s not— I know you don’t feel that way— and I told you before, I’d never _want_ to be your weakness— and I know I’m not— but it’s—“

Emma stands abruptly, reaching for her clothes.

“…Where are you going?” Elsa asks.

“I’m gonna go pay Regina a little visit.”

“Emma, wait—“ She stumbles out of bed, grabbing her own clothes, stepping into her jeans and throwing the shirt on over her head. Emma’s already taking the dagger and slipping it into its hold in her boot.

“Emma—“ Elsa tries again as the older woman begins to head down the stairs. She follows after her, trying to grab at her hand. “Emma, she won’t do anything until after the game, she’s still on your side!”

“It was one thing when she was threatening _me,_ she doesn’t have anywhere _near_ enough power to take me in a fight,” Emma snarls, almost more to herself that Elsa. “Now she’s gone after _you_ — you belong to me, no one’s allowed to touch you, no one’s allowed to hurt you.”

Memories of that wave of glass crashing down on the man who had attacked her rush through Elsa’s mind and her fear spikes at the thought of that same fate befalling Regina.

“Emma stop!” Elsa begs as Emma reaches the door, yanking it open. She takes a deep breath, already hating what she’s about to do. “Emma— that’s an order, you have to stop!” she cries ringingly.

Emma halts, teetering on the threshold of the door for a moment. Her shoulders are tight with anger, knuckles white gripping the edge of the door. Then she angles her head back to look at Elsa, face livid.

“Have another refusal from me then,” she growls. “Doesn’t matter, whole game’s pretty much moot at this point anyway.”

With that, a smoky curl of magic begins to slither around her, taking her, presumably, to Regina’s vault.


	13. Chapter 13

It takes slightly more than a second for Emma to be engulfed in her swirl of magic— Elsa springs forward in just slightly less than that, barely catching hold of Emma’s arm in time so that she too is swept up in that dark cloud.

She stumbles back a step as the two of them arrive at their new location, and Emma curses as she realizes Elsa has apparently hijacked her magic.

“Elsa, go home,” she snarls. “You _really_ don’t want to be here right now.”

Elsa shakes her head vehemently, even as she hears the clocktower chime in the distance, announcing Emma’s day.

Elsa’s first refusal.

“I’m not about to let you hurt the people who are still trying to protect you, who are still on your side!” she cries.

“On my _side?”_ Emma echoes disbelievingly taking a threatening step toward her. She points wildly at the vault. “The only way this goes, Elsa, is that I either have to sacrifice _you_ in order to keep my _power_ , or I have to sacrifice my _power_ in order to keep _you_. Regina hasn’t left me any real options, it’s either lose the game, or lose you, and I’m not about to let either of those two things happen. If I lose the game, she gets to control me with the dagger. If I _win_ the game, she goes after you in order to _still_ control me with the dagger. That’s what I’d call a lose-lose situation there, Elsa, and the only way I see to get out of it is by taking Regina out of the picture completely.”

“She still cares about you, she doesn’t _want_ to do either of those two things, and she _won’t_ until the end of the game anyway—“

“So I have, what, another week and a half of being free, of actually being who I am before she shows her hand?” Emma snaps. “And what about you— have you made up your mind yet about what you’re going to do with me? You gonna serve me up on a platter for Regina? Or throw yourself under the bus to protect me? Or submit to me until you don’t, and then you do, and then you do, and then you don’t— this doesn’t end well for _anyone_ , Elsa, I told you that from the _very_ beginning. You _do not make deals_ with the Dark One, didn’t I tell you that?”

Elsa stares at her, stricken by her outburst. She looks almost beside herself, the most emotional Elsa has seen her since she first got here.

Emma sets her jaw, beginning to head for the vault. “Now stand aside, or take another refusal. Regina and I have business together.”

“I’m not going to let you hurt her,” Elsa says resolutely, getting in front of her. “You remember what happened when you went after that man who attacked me— I _will_ get between you and Regina if I have to, and this time you may not be able to save me.”

Emma looks at her disbelievingly, face wild with shock. Elsa’s second refusal. In as many minutes. She and Emma are on par with each other now.

“Regina isn’t like that man— she doesn’t _deserve_ to be hurt,” Elsa goes on hastily. “She’s worked as hard as she can to do what’s best for you, at her own peril.”

“But she’s _wrong_ about me, she’s still acting like I’m two separate people and you know— _you know_ — that isn’t true!” Emma shouts, looking almost desperate. Almost like the Savior. “And she’s not putting _herself_ in peril anymore, she’s putting _you_ in peril, and I’m not going to fucking let that happen. I told you— I _told_ you— this deal, this game, whatever the fuck this is, would go up in smoke, that’s what _happens_ when you try to control the Dark One. You could have been content with me the way I am instead of trying to _‘rescue’_ me, you could have lived in _my present_ instead of in _your past_. You say you love me, but this is the fucking price, Elsa. All. Magic. Comes. With a price. Our deal, came with a price. It isn’t _up to me_ that that’s what happens, that’s just how this goes, that’s just how life is, how this world is. I can protect you from Regina if you let me, but I can’t hold onto you _and_ my power if you choose to side with her. This one’s in your hands, Elsa. Me, or Regina. Figure out what it is you’re really fighting for here, and do it quickly. Tell me what you really want and I’ll do it, this one last thing, because at this point, all I am is just as subject to your ever-changing whims as I was when my family had the dagger.”

“I hoped you might say something like that,” comes a voice behind Elsa, and both women snap to attention to find Mr. Gold ambling toward them. Before Elsa even registers what’s happening, Mr. Gold slides directly behind her, pressing a knife to the front of her throat.

Emma’s face goes shock white and she takes a step forward toward them, almost like she isn’t even thinking.

“Nuh-unh,” Mr. Gold chastises, pressing the blade just a little bit closer, forcing Elsa to rear her head back as much as she possibly can to put just a tiny amount of distance between the weapon and herself. Emma stops in her tracks, standing stalk still as she takes in the sight before her.

“I’ll bet you’re thinking right now,” Mr. Gold says, “ _would I have enough time…if I magicked that knife away, or if I attacked him head-on even…would I have enough_ time, _before he’s able to slit her throat?”_ Elsa feels him shake his head behind her, his chin jutting into the back of her neck. “You won’t, dearie, take it from me. In the time it takes you to gather the power you’d need to save her, I’ll already have cut the life from her. So I wouldn’t. Move. If I. Were you.”

Emma’s eyes dart frantically between him and Elsa, looking like she’s furiously trying to weigh the pros and cons, trying to judge the truthfulness of what he’s saying, trying to reconcile her instinct to lunge at him, with the reality of what that would mean for Elsa. 

Ultimately, she seems to decide standing still is her only option, jaw clenching as she tightens her whole body, not moving.

“Very good,” Mr. Gold says, nodding at her compliance. “I guess the ice queen really _is_ just as persuasive as the dagger. Interesting, given the lengths you’ve gone to to break her, she seems to have broken _you._ ”

“If you fucking hurt her…”

“If you do everything I say, I won’t have to,” Mr. Gold interrupts. “Think of her as your new dagger. Follow orders and there will be no consequence for you.”

It’s like a twisted mirror of their own game— but this time, with a new player, one who’s confident in breaking in late and making his own new rules.

“Gold,” Elsa says quietly, afraid to speak too loudly, incase that causes the knife to press harder against her. “You don’t have to do this. Regina and I have an agreement— if you just— if you went and got her, we could figure this out, she doesn’t want to enact her plan yet, she may not have to at all…”

_“Her_ plan?” Mr. Gold echoes, and it sounds like he’s smiling behind her. “I’m afraid ‘going to get Regina’ would be an exercise in futility— she and Miss Lucas are over the town line with their loved ones at the moment, at my suggestion of course.”

Then all of a sudden he barks, “Don’t. Try it. _Dearie,”_ and Elsa realizes he’s talking to Emma, whose hand had moved minutely in what must have been an attempt to magic the knife away from him.

Emma lifts her chin stiffly as the blade nicks just slightly into Elsa’s neck, and reverts back to her state of immobility.

Seeming satisfied, Mr. Gold turns his attention back to Elsa.

“It’s charmingly naive of you to have believed what I told you when last we met,” he says in what almost would have been a warm tone, if not for their current circumstance.  “The idea that _Regina_ of all people would actually be willing to _murder_ you in order to get control over Miss Swan here…sure, she intended to use you in order to make a trade for the dagger, but she’s come much too far to slide back into actually committing cold blooded murder— if only for her son’s sake. She was willing to do quite a bit of harm to what’s left of this town— and certainly she _did_ consider you to be Miss Swan’s greatest weakness, it’s why she thought a trade—you for the dagger— would prove efficient. But she was never prepared to _kill_ you, Elsa, not at the risk of losing Henry’s trust again.

“Regardless, I was hoping you would be naive enough to tell Miss Swan of ‘Regina’s plan’— her plan to ‘destroy’ you,” Mr. Gold continues. “You _are_ Emma’s greatest weakness, that much is clear— I was hoping her need to protect you would bring her here. That all would have been according to what Regina had planned anyway, and to what Miss Lucas _thought_ she had planned. The thing is, from there, I no longer cared for what Regina had in mind. I have absolutely no interest in ‘trading’ you for the dagger— that would be a waste of a perfect storm of an opportunity.”

Elsa’s gut twists, her mind frantically trying to understand what he’s saying. 

He doesn’t seem too interested in sharing just yet though, turning his attention back to Emma.

“Miss Swan, if you’d be so kind as to step forward, please— _very_ slowly,” he adds. He makes a show of sliding the knife very slowly, and very faintly across Elsa’s neck— not anywhere near hard enough to cut her open, but suddenly close enough that Elsa is afraid to swallow as she’s certain any slight bob of her throat will cause her to slit her own throat. Fear is flooding through her, her powers should be in a frenzy right now, there should be wind whipping and ice cracking across the ground, but she’s so focused on trying not to move, trying not to cut her own self open, that only the slightest hint of a flurry begins.

“Careful with that, dearie,” Mr. Gold murmurs in her ear, a soft but very chilling threat. “Any unexpected ice might cause me to slip and there’s a _very_ good chance my hand might slip as well. Something tells me that wouldn’t end very well for you.”

Elsa tenses, trying desperately to get herself under control, watching as  Emma shuffles obediently and slowly toward them, her eyes locked furiously with Mr. Gold’s.

“That’s very good Miss Swan, you can stop there,” Mr. Gold tells her congenially. “Now if you would be so good as to reach down to your boot and hand over the dagger.”

“I thought you said Elsa was my new dagger,” Emma deadpans.

Elsa hears Mr. Gold make some kind of scolding clicking sound. “I’m not actually all that interested in bantering with you,” he says. “You will hand over the dagger, or you will watch Elsa die, it’s your choice.”

Emma seems to weigh his words. “You’re not going to kill Elsa, you won’t have any leverage,” she says finally.

Mr. Gold shrugs. “If that’s the way you want to play,” he says, and Elsa cries out in sharp, acute pain as he drags the blade shallowly lengthwise down the side of her neck— nothing that will kill her, but enough for tears to spring into her eyes, enough to make Emma’s eyes go wide and shout hoarsely, “Stop! Fuck, stop! Stop!”

For a split second, her voice breaks just enough that it sounds like she’s on the cusp of begging, and Elsa’s gut twists. Emma should never beg. _Never._ The idea makes her panic even more, the flurry coming down around them picking up strength. A small dribble of blood trickles down her neck, dropping to the ground where it soaks into a small patch of snow.

“The dagger please, Emma,” Mr. Gold repeats calmly.

Emma grits her teeth, reaching down to take the dagger from her boot.

“So— what, _you_ wanted to be able to control me with this thing instead of Regina?” she growls as she holds it out to him. “This all seems like kind of an elaborate scheme just to get your hands on it before Regina can. Didn’t realize I was so popular, the two of you should’ve just started wooing me, ask _me_ who I wanted to go to the prom with. Some flowers here, box of chocolates there, I’d’ve let you know who I’d pledge my troth to—“

“You honestly think this is about you,” Mr. Gold says, shifting so that Elsa is still firmly in his grasp with the knife at her throat, but angling himself enough that he can reach out to take the dagger from Emma. “This isn’t about controlling _you,_ dearie, it’s about power. More importantly, it’s about the fact that as long as you’re the Dark One, none of that power belongs to me.”

His hand closes over the hilt of the dagger and he snatches it from Emma’s hold as quickly as he can, bringing it back so that it too is pressed against Elsa. 

Emma is staring at him with pure hatred, entire body shaking from rage.

“Alright,” she growls hoarsely. Even her voice is quavering, probably with the fear of having to once again surrender her freedom to the dagger. She holds her hand out. “Now hand over Elsa.”

Mr. Gold makes that scolding clicking sound again. “Didn’t you hear me say I had no interest in making a trade?” he asks. “That was Regina’s plan, not mine. No, I’m afraid it would do me very little service to let Elsa go, she’s become much too loyal to you, and she isn’t short on power herself. Once I take care of the second part of my— as you called it— ‘elaborate scheme’, I’m a little nervous about what an ice queen might do for revenge.”

Emma’s face whitens, nostrils flaring. “You’re not making any sense. Just…hand over Elsa. You’ve got your power, just like you wanted, so—”

“This?” Mr.Gold asks, waving the dagger as much as he can against Elsa. “This isn’t my power, dearie, this is nothing. You yourself, I’m assuming, have long figured out that the only way to be truly powerful, is to be the Dark One _and_ have control of the dagger. Not just one or the other.”

“So what are you—“

“I’ve gotten bored, Miss Swan, of being powerless. Watching your rampant, senseless destruction. You don’t handle power well, you are still very much the angry, lonely little orphaned child that you’ve always been— turning this town into your playground, trying to get people to play your games with you, play make-believe, play with your toys, all so you can forget how alone you’ve always been. You’re a child, Miss Swan, and always will be. Power belongs with those who know how to use it. So I’m taking that power back.”

In the blink of an eye, he shoves Elsa from him and she’s sent sprawling to the ground, whipping her head around just in time to see the flash of the dagger in Mr. Gold’s hand as he lunges forward, and thrusts the blade deep under Emma’s ribs.

Elsa thinks she screams Emma’s name— she can’t be sure though, as her terror finally breaks loose and the wind whips piercingly around her, carrying her scream off with it.

She stares, frozen with horror through the rising blizzard as Emma sinks to her knees, the older woman’s face contracting in shock, like she’s trying to understand what’s happening to her. She brings her hands shakily to the dagger in her chest and blood dribbles out the corner of her mouth as she stares stunned up at Mr. Gold.

Elsa feels another silenced scream tear through her throat and she staggers to her feet, stumbling through the storm to get to her.

Mr. Gold yanks the dagger from Emma’s chest just in time to wheel around and catch Elsa in his arms at the waist before she can reach her.

“Now now, dearie,” he reprimands as she struggles in his hold. Snow is whipping down almost horizontally around them, battering them both left and right.

“Afraid you’re next on my list, Your Majesty,” Mr. Gold grunts, struggling to keep hold of her. “Now that I’m the Dark One again, can’t have you running around trying to avenge Miss Swan, trying to get the dagger from me…Regina and Ruby will have to go too, that shouldn’t be terribly difficult—“ He grunts again. “Though this storm of yours is quite the inconvenience.”

Elsa squirms wildly in his grasp as she feels him trying to angle the dagger into her side. A violent gale of ice and snow pummels them both— painful for him, a sudden surge of power for her— and she twists away, sending a sheet of ice shooting toward him.

That gut reaction flares out of control, an edge of the ice jutting out in a crude, knifelike formation and all of a sudden Mr. Gold lets out a harsh cry as it plunges through him, sending the dagger flying to the ground.

That ice won’t kill him— the Dark One can’t be killed— not without the dagger— is he the Dark One yet?— Would it stop him—?

It doesn’t matter. Elsa throws herself down on the ground, gathering Emma up in her arms. The older woman’s breath is coming out in garbled wheezes, blood flowing freely from the wound in her chest, and dribbling slowly out of her mouth.

“Emma? Emma?” Elsa cries shakily, voice breaking. Tears stream down her face, freezing almost the moment they reach her cheeks. She casts her gaze around frantically. There has to be something she can do— Emma isn’t dead yet— not yet— there must be something— _anything_ — anything at all—

Elsa’s watery gaze falls to the dagger, just barely out of her reach. If she shifts just slightly she could grab a hold of it, but she doesn’t want it. That _thing_ , that horrible _thing—_ there’s nothing it could do to help, only harm…

She stills though as something moves on it. She can’t see it through the howling wind, and her tears, and reaches unthinkingly toward it, releasing her hold on Emma.

The older woman’s hand shoots out weakly to stop her.

“Don’t let go of me,” she breathes out, voice barely more than a garble, but still stubbornly commanding as ever.

“Only for a moment, Emma.”

“Don’t let go of me…” Emma repeats weakly.

Only for a moment. Only just to see…what if it can help after all, what if it’s the _only_ thing…

She slips her hands from Emma and reaches, hand closing around the hilt.

The letters on the dagger are shuddering manically. Blurring and flickering frantically, like they’re struggling…they’re struggling to figure out which name to claim, Elsa realizes. Where once it read proudly _“Emma Swan”_ it seems to be struggling to change to _“Rumplestiltskin”_ and then fighting back to read something else— a distorted _“Emma”_ — and then back to _“Rumplestiltskin”—_ as it tries to figure out whether Emma will live or not.

She wheels around as she hears Mr. Gold, finally free from the sheet of ice, staggering toward her with a roar. Unable to react quickly enough even for her powers to protect her, she raises her hands above her head in a futile reflex to defend herself.

Before he can reach her though, something surges through her. Not ice. Not snow. Nothing cold. It’s thick and hot, twisting inside her like a physical force and bursting from her hands.

Mr. Gold is sent flying backward as this new power spikes forth in sharp, black spires. One of them catches him in the shoulder and he is pinned down to the ground, struggling madly to escape the giant sticky thorn that pushes slower and deeper into his shoulder, through the bone and into the ground beneath him.

Elsa’s shaking, memories of the last time this sort of thoughtless, unintentional magic happened rushing through her. Dark magic. _Dark One_ magic. From when Emma transferred it to her through those symbols she carved into her skin. The same symbols she carved into her no more than a few hours ago.

Elsa looks down again at the dagger, body quivering from both the wind swirling around her and the feeling of dark magic coursing through her. She realizes now— the dagger isn’t just trying to weigh whether it should belong to _“Emma Swan”_ or _“Rumplestiltskin”_ — it’s trying to weigh whether _“Elsa”_ should be in there as well. She has the Dark One’s magic racing through her after all, put there by Emma Swan— that distorted _“Emma”_ she thought she had seen before wasn’t _“Emma”_ at all— it was _“Elsa.”_ Elsa, the one contender for the name of “Dark One” who isn’t currently bleeding to death. The one contender who may actually survive long enough to _be_ the Dark One.

If Gold dies…

If Emma dies…

Emma.

Emma can’t die. Emma must never die.

Elsa stands to her feet, turning to face Mr. Gold. The wind howls behind her— no longer a random, chaotic whirlwind— now a very controlled, very deliberate gale, rising with her. As the life drains slowly from both Emma and Gold, Elsa feels that darkness wrap even tighter around her, and inside her, twisting around every muscle in her body.

“Don’t—“ Gold begins as she takes a step toward him.

He never gets the chance to finish the rest of it. Elsa extends her hand minutely and a jagged, deadly stretch of ice rips across the ground, encasing Mr. Gold from head to toe, freezing him in place. She watches as the core of her jagged plane of ice darkens, that same thick, black substance from before creeping slowly down the stretch of ice, causing it to splinter and crack until it reaches Mr. Gold. It begins to pool then, within the confines of the ice, overtaking Gold’s body, submerging it in thick black pitch. It continues to crack at the ice— crack at the ice that Mr. Gold’s body has become— and with a howling moan from the wind, the ice shatters, tearing Gold’s body apart with it.

Elsa looks on coldly, barely flinching at the notion that she’s just killed someone. It had to be done. She’s _glad_ it was done.

More importantly—

She drops to her knees again beside Emma, whose breath is shallow and raspy— barely coming at all. The older woman is white as a sheet, looking up at her wild-eyed, unable to speak, unable to move, maybe not even aware of herself anymore.

“It’s okay,” Elsa whispers urgently, taking the older woman’s face in her hands. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Out of the corner of her eye, through more tears, she can see the writing on the dagger, still flickering back and forth, struggling to figure out— _Elsa_ or _Emma, Elsa_ or _Emma, Elsa_ or _Emma,_ staying for longer and longer on _Elsa_ as Emma’s life begins to leave her _…_

Elsa’s mind is racing, tears falling freely as she racks her brain— she doesn’t have time— _Emma_ doesn’t have time— there has to be a way, this is dark magic, _Dark One_ magic…it has no limits— no limits at all, save for what is commanded through the dagger, save for the two laws of magic Emma told her once, that life can’t be returned to the dead, and love cannot be created.

The darkness is growing stronger in her as the light in Emma’s eyes starts to dim, she can feel it. Limitless. Only she doesn’t know _how_ , she doesn’t know if she _can_ — can she heal Emma? She isn’t the Dark One yet, not so long as Emma has a breath left in her— and once that last breath is gone, Elsa will be the Dark One and it will be too late.

_You can’t bring back the dead, you can’t create true love._ Those were the rules. Those were the limits, Emma had told her that. She can’t bring her back if she loses her— dead is dead, magic or no.

But…true love.

It can’t be created.

But what if it’s there already? That thing that can break any curse, any spell— maybe even the curse of being bound to the dagger, of having to die by it. That thing that Elsa had tried so hard not to feel for Emma, that thing that Emma had tried so hard not to feel for Elsa. Love, but maybe not true love. Maybe not strong enough, maybe not reciprocated. Or maybe just not realized until Emma had been willing to give up the dagger to ensure Elsa’s safety.

It’s all she has, the only answer she can come up with as Emma slips farther and farther away with every passing second and the name on the dagger barely flickers anymore.

Trembling, she bends her head over Emma, leaning down and catching her lips as gently as she can with her own. Her shoulders shake, tears still falling as she continues to press her lips softly to Emma’s, desperately pleading with whatever force is out there, that this is true love, that this will save Emma, that this will break the death she owes the dagger, that her power will return to her, that she’ll live. Anything, _anything_ , Elsa will give _anything_ to let this be true love, to let it be the thing that keeps Emma alive.

A pulse goes through her body suddenly and forces her away from Emma, just slightly. Startled, she sits up, hands still cupping Emma’s face as the pulse jolts through her again, and outward.

It isn’t the explosion of white light that had burst forth a year ago when she took Emma’s hand and saved her from her self-destructive attempt to rid herself of her powers.

Instead, it’s a dark shadow that melts out across the surrounding forest, pulsing with the beat of Elsa’s heart.

She all of a sudden becomes aware of a fuzzy darkness beginning to edge in at the corners of her eyes, feeling suddenly light-headed, unable to hold up her own body.

She isn’t sure whether she sees Emma’s eyes flutter, or if that’s just a shadow falling across her eyelids, before she pitches forward, exhausted, into a dead faint.


	14. 14

The first thing she sees as she opens her eyes is the dagger.

She can’t see what’s behind it, what’s surrounding it, what’s surrounding _her_ — just the dagger itself, silhouette sharp and gleaming, like it was cut from its background.

Her eyes feel heavy, she squints to try to focus them, drawing breath slowly in and out, like that will help her somehow. It feels like a lifetime passes, but slowly things around her start to swim into clarity, and the dark fuzziness fades into light.

Two things startle her at once— she isn’t outside any longer, for one. There’s no sign of Regina’s vault, the cemetery, the surrounding woods, all gone. Instead it’s dark and musty, but with faint light streaming in from somewhere behind her, landing on the hardwood floor before her. The loft, she realizes. Emma’s room. Emma’s bed.

The second thing to startle her— the one that causes her heart to sink and her gut to twist— is that she can now make out the name on the dagger from its resting place on the nightstand before her.

_Elsa,_ it says coldly, the text rigid and unforgiving.

She lays stock still staring at it, a hot tear spilling from her eye, down over the bridge of her nose to soak into the pillow beneath her head. There’s only one way for this to be possible, only one way Elsa could possibly be the new Dark One.

She presses the side of her face deeper into the pillow, bringing her knees up to her chest, not bothering to suppress the sob that racks through her body. She was wrong. She’s never felt so foolish, so destructively naive, as she does now. Just like they’d all been saying this whole time— Emma said it, Regina said it, Gold, even Ruby— too foolish, too naive. To have thought a _kiss_ would save Emma— to have thought that _true love_ was the answer, or that it even existed at all, that it was ever anything more than a one-sided crush paired with a distant, possessive affection—

But it had _felt_ like true love, she argues urgently with herself, angry heat coiling furiously in her chest. She feels liquid fire course through her veins— all around her, she feels the glass of the windows and the mirrors begin to crack, splintering with her anger. It was true love, she was so _sure_. They weren’t eye to eye, they’d probably _never_ be eye to eye, but that had been love, she’s sure of it, Emma had done everything in her power, and against her instincts, in order to keep Elsa safe; Elsa has been trying to do the same this entire time. It _was_ love. It was even _true love_ , it _was_ , it _had_ to be, so why wouldn’t it have _worked_ , how could it have not been _enough_ , how could any of this have _happened,_ and why was it— and how was it— and Elsa thinks she might just _drown_ through all the tears flooding from her eyes, might crack and splinter just as the mirrors and windows around her are.

“Please,” she whispers into her pillow, not sure who she’s talking to or what she’s asking for, her anger breaking back down to sorrow. She squeezes her eyes shut, fingers curling into the pillow case. _“Please please please please…”_

She whimpers again as she feels a warm arm drape over her waist, a warm body curling around her, pressing against her back. She exhales shakily, biting hard into her lip against this phantom feeling, this phantom wish her mind has conjured up for her. She knows the shape of that body curling around her all too well, that scent, that warmth. Why can’t her memories just stay in her mind where they belong, why does it have to _feel_ like she’s here, really _here_ , with Elsa. She reaches down and takes hold of this phantom memory’s hand, bringing it up under her chin, weaving their fingers together. She shudders because the memory doesn’t feel like a memory at all— it feels warm, and solid, and real, thumb brushing back and forth over the top of Elsa’s hand.

A memory wouldn’t know to do that. A phantom wouldn’t breathe warmly against the back of her neck.

Elsa opens her eyes slowly, staring straight ahead at the dagger, taking in the sensation of that thumb stroking over her hand, that breath at her neck, too terrified to turn around, to look, just in case, just in case it’s real…just in case it _isn’t_ real…

“You died,” she croaks out, squeezing Emma’s hand harder in hers, refusing to look anywhere but that dagger. That horrible dagger. The one that’s followed her everywhere, no matter what she’s done, haunting her, now owning her.

Warm lips gently at her ear.

“I didn’t die.”

Warm breath on the back of her neck.

Elsa shakes her head as more tears spill, pressing her head further into the pillow. “You did,” she whimpers, voice breaking. “I saw you, I felt you die…I felt the dark magic in me…I still feel it in me. And my name…the dagger has my name…”

“Turn it over.” Voice both gentle and firm. “Turn the dagger over.”

Elsa shakes her head again, clutching Emma’s hand even tighter. “I can’t let go of you, you might disappear.”

“I’m not going to disappear.” A soft kiss at the nape of her neck. “Just pick up the dagger and turn it over.”

“You’re not real.”

“I _am_ real. Turn over on your side if you like, you can see for yourself.”

“But what if you’re not there when I turn over?”

A sigh, causing strands of Elsa’s hair to be displaced.

“There’s light coming in from the window,” Elsa goes on weakly. “Emma kept the town dark, she doesn’t exist anymore, you don’t exist anymore.”

“It’s not so light. It’s overcast. Kind of looks like it might snow.”

“That’s my point,” Elsa whimpers. “Emma can’t be alive, the town would be dark if she was. I’m the Dark One, there’s no way Emma could be alive.”

Another sigh. “You can lay here arguing with me all day, or you can pick up that dagger and see what I’m trying to show you. You continue to argue with me, you take another refusal. It’s your choice.”

Elsa feels like laughing in between her crying. It wouldn’t know— a phantom memory wouldn’t know how to tease, wouldn’t know how to hang a refusal over her head. She almost turns around to see her, to see her Emma— but she can’t. Not yet. She isn’t ready yet. It might still be a trick.

Warm lips back at her ear. This time accompanied by a small, yet sharp little nip, an ever-so-slightly commanding whisper. “Go on, don’t make me ask you again, Els. Just pick up the dagger, and turn it over.”

Elsa exhales shakily, gathering the courage to let go of Emma’s hand. She releases it slowly, and reaches for the dagger, curling her fingers around the hilt before turning it to the flip side of the blade.

_Emma Swan_ , it reads.

Brow creasing, she turns it over again. _Elsa_ glares proudly back up at her, just as it did moments before.

And then back to the other side… _Emma Swan._

“How is this possible?” she murmurs, heart pounding with sudden fear, or excitement, or some other emotion she can’t quite put a name to.

She feels Emma’s hand slide up to her cheek, cupping it, and using it to turn her face toward her. She whimpers and feels more tears trickle freely as she finally sees her, Emma Swan, gazing down at her. Alive. So alive. So bright, so real. The older woman brushes her thumb softly over Elsa’s lips parting them. Then she does that impish grinning-smirking thing Elsa has seen so much of over the past month.

“Think you made a good call with that true love’s kiss trick,” she says with a playful lilt of her eyebrow.

Elsa stares up at her, trying to keep from sobbing aloud. She looks different, Elsa realizes. That silvery hair is just a _touch_ warmer now— not the Emma Swan gold, but still a little less pale. Her eyes too— still dark and glinting and mischievous, but somehow without that gleam of malice. And even her frame— still lean and muscular as ever, only now less… _sharp_ looking.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually— how it could have happened,” Emma tells her with a warm smile, finger tracing down her throat, and across her collarbone. “You’ve been out a while, I had to entertain myself _somehow._ Figuring out what the hell happened seemed like a good way to do it.”

“And…” Elsa swallows, because she isn’t quite sure she’s able to comprehend _anything_ right now, let alone whatever might have led to this. “What…what did you figure out?”

“I think you got that split you wanted,” Emma tells her, playing with her hair. “That fifty-fifty Dark One split.” She props herself up slightly on her elbow, raising an eyebrow. “And I _think_ I’ve put together kind of a timeline for how that happened.”

“A timeline,” Elsa echoes, still too dumbfounded to find words of her own.

“First, you killed Gold,” Emma says, fingers stroking gently through her hair. “Which, by the way, I’m _very_ proud of. That was beautifully gruesome and I approve completely.”

She’s doing that impish grin again and Elsa can’t help but flush at that. Even after everything, she can’t help but continue to crave Emma’s approval for everything she does— almost more now than ever— and it almost makes her want to grin right back at her, except that she doesn’t think she can manage it right now.

“So that took Gold out of the picture,” Emma goes on to say. “Which means it was down to either you, or me. Me, because I was already the Dark One; you, because you had some of the Dark One’s magic in you already, so you were sort of a uhm…a temporary Dark One. Or like an honorary Dark One. If that makes sense.”

Elsa nods. She’d thought as much herself, as soon as the dagger had started flickering back and forth between her name and Emma’s.

“Between the two of us, you were the most likely to survive,” Emma continues. “So the dagger chose you as my successor, as the new Dark One. It had been used in order to kill me, so as far as it was concerned, I was on my way out anyway, because that’s what I owe— I told you, right, that it’s the one curse I’m subject to, is the one that binds me to the dagger.

“So then _you_ come along,” Emma goes on, one hand sliding down to pinch at Elsa’s hip, “and you decide a true-love’s-kiss was appropriate for the occasion, and uh…” she bites her lip teasingly, smiling and cocking an eyebrow playfully, “…guess it must have been a pretty quality kiss because all of a sudden my one curse was broken— which, y’know, they tell me is what true love does. I wasn’t bound to the dagger anymore. Which meant I no longer owed it my life. Which meant I got my powers back. Which meant I was suddenly and very unexpectedly in surprisingly good health.

“So my _guess,”_ she goes on, looking thoughtful, “this theory that I’ve been working out while you were passed out here, is that you’d already been chosen as the Dark One. But then you came along and saved me, so now _I_ was _also_ the Dark One. I’m thinking the dagger didn’t know how to reconcile two Dark Ones, so it just went ahead and split it right down the middle between the two of us.”

“So you think we’re…”

“Two halves of a Dark One,” Emma answers. She nods at the window, where it truly is extremely overcast, like a storm is about to break. No longer pitch black, but certainly a far cry from clear. “See that, you even brought the day back. A little stormy, sure, but not half bad, considering you and I are both only half-good.” She looks a little absurdly proud of that pun.

It makes Elsa burst into tears all over again, not sure whether she’s laughing or crying as she turns all the way over and buries her head into Emma’s neck, holding her tight.

Emma’s hand strokes up and down her back soothingly, free hand coming up to cradle Elsa’s face. She lifts Elsa’s chin and kisses her, warm and soft on the mouth. No reservations. No manipulations. Just a kiss. A real one.

“It’s okay, Els, don’t cry,” she murmurs when they separate. She brushes Elsa’s tears away. “You’re half a Dark One now, we rip apart cities when we’re upset, we don’t lay around crying. No more of that.”

Elsa sob-laughs again, holding her tighter. “I though I lost you,” she cries, “I’ll rip apart cities later, for now I get to cry all I want.”

Emma holds her for a time, letting her cry into her shoulder. Then she says, “You didn’t lose me, Elsa. But you did just lose the game.”

Elsa stills, struggling to comprehend that for a moment. She’d almost forgotten there even _was_ a game amidst finding out Emma is still alive, and that she’s suddenly one half of a Dark One. She props herself up on her elbow, looking at Emma quizzically, eyes puffy from crying.

“What do you mean I lost?” she asks. “When could I have lost?”

They aren’t at the end of their game, they’re both equally Dark and Light now, there can’t _be_ a winner or loser. Unless…

“You forfeited,” Emma tells her. She looks smug, and although she no longer has that maliciousness to her gaze, she looks completely unapologetic. “Used up all your refusals. Just now, actually. Though it was kind of sneaky, I’ll admit it.”

“But how…?”

Emma holds up a finger. “One,” she says, “yesterday at Regina’s vault, I told you to go home, and you refused.”

Elsa nods carefully, remembering that one.

“Two,” Emma says, holding up a second finger, “I told you to get out of my way, and not only did you refuse, you vowed to get in between me and Regina if it came to that.”

Elsa presses her lips together, remembering that one too.

Emma holds up a third finger. “Three,” she says, “I was doing a very good job bleeding out all over your lap, and I told you not to let go of me. And then you decided to reach for the dagger and let go of me.”

“But that was only for a moment…!” Elsa cries.

“It was still the opposite of what I told you to do,” Emma says with a shrug. “That one wasn’t very nice, I’ll admit that. But as for whether it was a refusal or not…still counts.”

“And just now?” Elsa asks. “You said I tried to give a fourth refusal just now.”

Emma smiles, lifting her hand to brush away the tear tracks staining Elsa’s cheeks. “Don’t cry, Els,” she says.

It takes her a moment to understand. Then she frowns. _Don’t cry._ That had been an _order_. Elsa had assumed it was Emma trying to comfort her. _Don’t cry._ Instead, Elsa had struck out. _Three refusals— and an attempted fourth will result in a forfeit._

“You tricked me,” Elsa says, sitting up abruptly and staring down accusingly at Emma. “I thought you were trying to comfort me— you _tricked_ me.”

“Not on _purpose,”_ Emma argues, sitting up as well. “I really did mean for it to be a comfort but then…you just walked right into it. That’s not _my_ fault, not _really.”_

“It wasn’t fair,” Elsa asserts.

“Well, yeah, but Elsa, when have I _ever_ played fair throughout this entire thing?”

“You were supposed to be _good_ now!” Elsa exclaims, getting to her feet. “Or… _half_ good at least.”

“Well, I feel _kind of_ bad about it!” Emma snaps. She glares at her for a moment, then raises her chin, face softening just slightly. “Actually I don’t feel bad about it,” she says. She reaches out to take Elsa’s hand, scooting closer to her. She tugs lightly, and Elsa sits back down next to her.

“I don’t feel bad about it at all, I’m glad you’re mine now,” she says quietly, tucking Elsa’s hair behind her ear. _“Really_ mine now. Not just a game, not just temporary. You belong to me. And…you said you liked belonging to me. I’m your dark, you’re my light, remember? You said that.”

Elsa looks down at her hand in Emma’s. “I remember,” she says.

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Emma tells her, corner of her mouth twitching up a little. “Would it?”

“I would never be able to say no to you,” Elsa says. That’s what scares her the most. Before, there was at least that one small safety net in the idea of three refusals, in the idea that she could take a break the following day. But now…

“You’d never be able to say no to me,” Emma agrees quietly. One eyebrow cocks up playfully again, and she nudges shoulders with Emma. “But— what, so on a typical day I’d torture you a bit, then fuck you senseless—“ Elsa breathes out a small laugh. “—and then we’d have grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, and then we’d torture some people on my shit list—“ Elsa bites down on her smile. “—We’ll probably have to nix the whole murder thing, just to keep Regina and the rest of the town off our backs. But a little torture’s never hurt anyone—“ Elsa’s grin breaks free and she tries hard not to lean in and kiss Emma. 

“So then after we’ve taken out some of our restless rage on the baddies,” Emma goes on, “we settle in for bed, but then I get insomnia so I torture you some more. But then the next day we go get some ice cream and rescue some innocents from bad guys, and save some cats from trees, because that feels almost as good as torture.  But then afterward I’ll have torture you _again,_ just for kicks— and then, hey, on holidays, I might even let you fight back a little. Independence Day. That’ll be your day. Fourth of July. It’s our day here in my world, in the states, where we celebrate our freedom. So, let’s say I give you one day a year to do whatever you want. Fourth of July. Hot dogs, fireworks, you can take a trip to Arendelle, see your sister, buy a tiny American flag and wave it around at people…whatever you want. And then after, we go back in for the torture/sex/grilled cheese sandwich marathon. And live happily ever after.” She grins proudly at Elsa, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Elsa stares disbelievingly at her. That was the most perfectly-blended Savior-Dark One speech she could have ever imagined, and it’s…impossibly tempting. There’s something warm blooming slowly in her chest at the notion and she feels a pleasant little twist of something deep in her gut.

“And this torture…” she says carefully, biting her lip. “What exactly would that entail?”

Emma’s grin turns suddenly sly, and she leans in to skim her lips over Elsa’s.

“Well I never got you fully trained the way I wanted,” she purrs, breath tickling Elsa’s lips. “And there’s a couple things I think you might be more open to, now that we’re kind of on the same page. Not to mention, I can’t help but remember _you_ had some favorites that overlapped with _mine,_ which I’d _very_ happily do a repeat of if that really gets a lesson across to you.”

Elsa feels like she’s starting to tremble a little bit, though not in the bad way. More…in a very good way.

“Favorites like…what?” she asks, hoping her voice doesn’t sound as shaky as she feels like it does.

“Well,” Emma says cocking her head. 

And all of a sudden it’s like some unseen force yanks Elsa down onto the floor so she’s kneeling before Emma between her legs, knees aching sharply as they hit the floor. Emma reaches down and takes Elsa’s chin gently in her hand.

“This is forever and always my favorite position for you to be in,” she says, fingers drifting lightly at Elsa’s jaw. “And last I checked, you didn’t mind it so much yourself.”

Elsa leans her head into Emma’s hand as affirmation because she doesn’t think she’s actually supposed to speak right now. Emma looks pleased with her.

“And, let’s see…” Emma muses, looking her over. “You always look unbelievably beautiful in restraints.”

Elsa sees her move her hand ever so slightly, and she gasps as her arms are forced behind her and there’s the slithering sensation of black magic ropes winding around up her arms, around her throat, down around her waist, her thighs, her ankles…

“And last, but far from least,” Emma says, lifting Elsa’s chin just slightly so that the rope constricts around her neck, “is how much I love you when you’re in pain.”

Elsa waits for something to happen, but Emma just rakes her gaze over her slowly. “Now here’s the kicker,” the older woman says thoughtfully, “what _exactly_ are we trying to accomplish with pain? Are we going for pleasure?” Elsa moans as the rope tightens around her neck. “Are we going for a punishment?” She slaps Elsa’s cheek gently, just hard enough that Elsa’s face stings with both embarrassment and shock. “Are we just trying to get a lesson across to you? Is it just for fun?”

She twists Elsa’s hair around her finger contemplatively. “So many options,” she muses. “So many different ways to try out…and how do I keep you on your toes? How do I keep you from ever falling into a dull, predictable routine?” Her eyes glint mischievously. “It’s going to take a lot of effort on my part to keep coming up with new and inventive ways to keep both of us entertained. You’re going to cause me a lot of trouble, just trying to keep up. That in itself is reason enough to punish you, don’t you think, Els? For all the trouble you’re making me go to?”

Elsa bites her lip, nodding eagerly as she nuzzles further into Emma’s hand. Only Emma can make all that sound like love. Not just _sound_ like it— this is how Emma loves. This is how Elsa wants to _be_ loved. Emma can be her dark, Elsa can be her light, just like they’ve always been— and vice versa. They’re split now, only complete when they’re twisted and twined around each other.

Emma looks happily satisfied. “I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun,” she whispers.

That warm feeling in Elsa’s chest curls suddenly and pulses through her entire body, leaving her almost senseless with the desire to please.

But then something catches in her mind and she can’t help but ask, “What about your family?”

Emma cocks her head jerkily in surprise, brow creasing before her face falls into that unreadable mask.

“What _about_ them?” she asks a little coolly.

“I mean now that you’re…now that you’re no longer a threat to them,” Elsa says, “do you think you’d want them to come back? You have control now, you won’t hurt them, not unless you really make a conscious effort to…which I don’t think you’ve ever really wanted. You won’t make that mistake again, you can rein yourself in. Do you think you’d have them back?”

Emma looks at her silently for a time, jaw set guardedly. “I don’t know, Elsa,” she says finally. “That’s…that’s a lot, right now. Maybe some day, but for now…it’s just a lot.”

Elsa nods understandingly, letting her gaze fall. Then she feels that new, strangely comfortable warmth spread throughout her body again.

“Well if you ever _do_ want to bring them back,” she says, feeling that warmth dance lightly across her skin, “you’d probably want the streets to be safe for them, right?”

Emma cocks an eyebrow, looking at her curiously.

Elsa stands to her feet, feeling her magicked restraints falling away from her as Emma’s interest is piqued more towards what she’s saying. 

“It’s just that I’ve noticed a lot of unsavory people in Storybrooke,” Elsa tells her. “Ones that I don’t like, ones that I don’t feel safe around, ones that I don’t think anyone should have to suffer living with.”

A smile is starting to play at Emma’s lips and she stands to her feet as well. “So what did you want to do about that?” she asks.

“I just think it might be wise— in the interest of everyone’s safety, of course—“

“—Of course,” Emma agrees.

“—It might be a good idea to make sure those people don’t pose a threat. Ever again.”

Emma makes a _tsk_ -ing sound with her tongue against her teeth, and draws Elsa closer in by the waist.

“That sounds an awful lot like you’re suggesting we go hunting down the ‘unsavories’ and torture them for sport,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well I feel…restless, like you said,” Elsa says, actually serious about that. Every fiber of her being seems to be alive and buzzing. Her lips curve up in a careful smile. “And I really do think…as far as lessons that need to be taught…”

“…You and I would make awfully good teachers,” Emma finishes.

“I was only thinking you might want to get back to your roots. As the sheriff.”

“And fuck me if there isn’t a new sheriff in town,” Emma adds, giving her a look, eyes dancing.

Elsa smiles, biting her lip, and draws her hand up over herself, recreating in gentle spirals the ice dress that Emma had ripped from her that very first time. And just as it did with Mr. Gold, the core of the ice darkens, staining the dress in glinting black pitch.

Emma laughs genuinely, eyes crinkling at the sides. “I like this new look,” she says warmly.

“You should see what else I can do,” Elsa tells her with a teasing whisper, draping her arms over Emma’s shoulders. That excited swarm of warmth in her spreads out as ice creeps up the walls and windows of the loft, staining black as they go.

“Thought you were supposed to be in control of yourself,” Emma says, touching foreheads with her. “Half-dark, half-light. At this rate you’re going to freeze the whole neighborhood.”

“I’m just showing off a little,” Elsa admits, dipping her head to try to get at her lips. Emma evades her and looks down at her with mock disapproval.

“Egos are a dangerous thing,” she says. “I’m going to need to knock you down a couple pegs for that later on. But for now…” she offers her arm to Elsa, “…I believe I heard you say something about wanting to make these streets safe.”

“Well it’s the least we can do,” Elsa tells her, then laughs echoingly as the two of them are swept up in a swirling cloud of black and white smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Quick ending, I know, but I really needed to wrap this up, more for personal reasons than anything else. Hopefully it was still satisfactory.
> 
> On that note, I’m going to do a little shameless self-promotion here: I’m going to be taking a long or possibly permanent break from writing, but before I do, I wanted to upload a last couple of things that I’ve been working on before I go. So, in case anyone’s interested— there’s going to be a little collection of VERY FLUFFY FrozenSwan one-shots that basically serve as a mini sequel to The Hot and Cold of It, in case any of you read that and needed a follow-up. And then I’m also going to be putting up an Emma/Elsa/Ingrid one-shot that I wrote a while ago and just never got around to uploading.
> 
> Sorry. Very sorry for the shameless self-promotion. But I figure, since I’m on my way out, may as well advertise the shit out of myself :) But in any case, if either of those two things sounds interesting to you, keep your eyeballs peeled for them— I’m going to be posting them over the course of the next few days.
> 
> Thusly, after the longest, most self-promoting A/N ever, I need to say thank you to all of you for putting up with this crazy bullshit. I’ve never written anything dark like this before, so I really loved getting all your feedback and suggestions, a lot of them were really helpful in shaping the story, so thank you thank you!! May you have sweet dreams of sexy torture.


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